"Hello!... Hello! Is this the Doctor speakin'?... Oh, this is Miss Gwendolyn's nurse, sir.... Yes sir. Well, Miss Gwendolyn's a little nervous to-day, sir. Not sick enough to call you in, sir.... But I was goin' to ask if you couldn't send something soothin'. She's been cryin' like, that's all.... Yes, sir, and wakeful—"
"A little hysterical yesterday," prompted Thomas, in a low voice.
"A little hysterical yesterday," went on Jane. "...Yes, sir, by messenger.... I'll be most careful, sir.... Thank you, sir."
Jane and Thomas combined to make the remainder of the afternoon less dull. One by one the favorite toys came down from the second shelf. And a miniature circus took place on the rug beside the bed—a circus in which each toy played a part. Gwendolyn's fear was charmed away. She laughed, and drank copious draughts of water—delicious bubbling water that Thomas poured from tall bottles.
Jane had her own supper beside the white-and-gold bed—coffee and a sandwich only. Gwendolyn still had no appetite, but seemed almost her usual self once more. So much so that when she asked questions, Jane was cross, and counseled immediate sleep.
"But I'm not a bit sleepy," declared Gwendolyn. "It'll be moonlight after while, Jane. May I look out at the Down-Town roofs?"
"You may stop your botherin'," retorted Jane, "and make up your mind to go to sleep. You've give me a' awful day. Now try just forty winks."
"Why do you always say forty?" inquired Gwendolyn. "Couldn't I take forty-one?"
"Hush!"
After supper came the medicine—a dark liquid. Gwendolyn eyed it anxiously. Thomas was gone. Jane opened the bottle and measured a teaspoonful into a drinking-glass.