"Well," Bob said, "I must be going. Don't cry any more, Jackie. There's nothing to be afraid of up here, and it's quite light now I've drawn up the blind. You can lie and watch the moon and stars. I daresay father's watching them too, out in the trenches—"
"Oh, I want father!" Jackie broke in, "I want father!"
Bob wanted his father quite as much as his little brother did; but he owned a brave heart, and, though it was very heavy, he answered cheerfully—
"I daresay he'll be home on leave soon. Here, let me cover you up!"
He tucked the bedclothes around Jackie, then hurried out of the room, leaving the door ajar. As he ran down the steep, narrow stairs he met a little old woman toiling up, followed by an ugly brown dog. He guessed who she was. There were two attics in the house, and the previous day he had heard his aunt remark that she had let the front attic to an old-age pensioner—a Mrs. Winter. No doubt this little old woman was Mrs. Winter.
"There's a dog following you!" he called out, stopping and looking after her.
"Yes," she said, glancing back at him with a smile, "he's my dog. Stray he's called. Oh, dear me, who's that crying?"
"My little brother," Bob replied; "he doesn't like being left alone— he's afraid."
He hurried on. Mrs. Winter, having reached the top stair, hesitated a minute, then, instead of going into her own attic, walked into the other, Stray at her heels.
Jackie was sitting up in bed, crying loudly. He became suddenly silent when he saw Mrs. Winter.