“You ought not to have been allowed with the others,” he said. “However, as things are, I dare-say no harm has been done. No one has been complaining of headache or sore throat, have they?”
Nellie thought hard for a minute or two. She reviewed each member of the family rapidly in succession, and tried to remember if any one’s appetite had failed at any meal lately, that was always the great test of health at Misrule.
“No,” she said at last. Then she caught her breath.
“Essie had a headache this morning,” she faltered. “Oh, but she fell down and bumped her head, so that accounts, and she ate four jam tarts yesterday when no one was in the room; that’s the cause of hers, Alan, isn’t it?—oh, you can see it is.”
“I’ll look at her,” he said. “Does Meg know anything about all this?”
“I didn’t like to worry her,” Nellie answered, and followed him up the path like a criminal found out in blackest iniquity. She had never dreamed [225] ]she was endangering the others. Poppet met them on the second path.
“Afternoon tea’s ready, and Meg says aren’t you two ever coming in. No, I don’t want any, there’s only gingerbread.”
“[PETER WAS ENGAGED IN CHASING A FAT DUCK.]”
Alan felt her pulse, and asked to see her tongue.