CHAPTER XI
When Henrietta entered Lem's room the boy lay as she had left him, and he was in a deep, healthy sleep, beads of perspiration on his forehead, for his room was under a slanting roof that received the full strength of the afternoon sun. Henrietta stood looking at him a moment and then spoke to him. He opened his eyes, saw her, and sat up.
“Gee!” he said, “I guess I had a long sleep, didn't I?”
“A fine one. Look what I've brought you. You like oranges, don't you?”
“You bet I do. How long was I asleep?”
“Hours and hours.”
She seated herself on the bedside and began peeling an orange. Lem stretched. His eye caught the great vaseful of syringas.
“Those are the flowers Lorna brought,” Henrietta said. “She thought you would like them.”
“They're nice,” Lem said.