“So they will be again, dear. Never mind your fingers. Will you try to swallow a teaspoonful of this arrow-root?” coaxed Elfie.
Erminie, apparently only to please her nurse, nodded assent and opened her mouth like a bird to receive the atom of nourishment. But the effort was too much for her weakness, and when she had swallowed it she gulped, shuddered and shook her head in refusal of anything more.
After a little while she raised her eyes so wistfully to her nurse that Elfie bent down over her to hear what she might have to say.
“How—long—have——” breathed Erminie, faintly, breaking off.
“How long have you been ill, do you mean, dear? Only since the day before yesterday,” replied Elfie.
“What makes—so weak?” panted Erminie.
“Only your illness; but you are better now, and you will soon be strong again.”
“You—think—so?”
“I know so, dearest. But you must not fatigue yourself by talking so much. Try to sleep.”
And before Elfie had well spoken this advice, Erminie had dropped as suddenly into sleep as a stone falls into a well.