He frowned at her, as she leaned back on the Doctor's shoulder. In her attitude he saw nothing of hope, unless he complied with her requirement. Without another protest he swallowed a few spoonfuls of liquid.
"Can't you think what is soft and round and small?
It's two little—somethings, as white as snow!
Two dear baby rabbits!—there, now—you know!"
"Can't you think what is soft and round and small?
It's two little—somethings, as white as snow!
Two dear baby rabbits!—there, now—you know!"
"Sing it again!" he begged.
Soon his eyelids dropped together, but as the song was ended he opened them wide, with a silent appeal for more.
So the tired little girl sang the lullaby that had put him to sleep early the day before. This time it did not have the hoped-for effect, and the vesper hymn which David had sung—at the bedtime hour which now seemed so very far away—came to the singer's mind. Softly she began the tender little song, going through it without a break.
At its close the boy lay quite still, and with a sight of relief her bright head dropped on the pillowing shoulder.
The Doctor leaned forward, and listened. The lad's breathing was soft and regular.
"Sound asleep at last! Now, Thistledown—a-h!" he gasped, for Polly lay on his arm, a limp little heap.
With great strides he carried her to the window.