Still Carol shook her head. "I said I wasn't hungry, Prudence." But her face was growing very red, and her eyes were strangely bright. She moved her hands with unnatural restless motions, and frequently lifted her shoulders in a peculiar manner.
"Do your shoulders hurt, Carol?" asked her father, who was also watching her anxiously.
"Oh, it feels kind of—well—tight, I guess, in my chest. But it doesn't hurt. It hurts a little when I breathe deep."
"Is your throat still sore, Carol?" inquired Lark. "Don't you remember saying you couldn't swallow when we were coming home from school?"
"It isn't sore now," said Carol. And as though intolerant of further questioning, she left the dining-room quickly.
"Shall I put flannel on her chest and throat, father?" asked Prudence nervously.
"Yes, and if she gets worse we will call the doctor. It's probably just a cold, but we must——"
"It isn't diphtheria, papa, you know that," cried Prudence passionately.
For there were four reported cases of that dread disease in Mount Mark.
But the pain in Carol's chest did grow worse, and she became so feverish that she began talking in quick broken sentences.