Miss Browne shook up the pillows and left her; this idea of making capital out of the headache was her own. 'Flossie never can bear any one to suffer,' she said. 'I always remember when I first came here, and she was only about three, some one cut a snake in half along the road. And what must the child do but rush from us and pick up one half—by the mercy of God, the tail half! You remember, Hermie? Bart, my love, you can't have forgotten that shocking day? She came running back to us crying dreadfully, and with that horrible thing in her hands. "Mend it, mend it!" she sobbed "oh, poor sing, poor sing, mend it twick!"'
So Mrs. Cameron went to lie on the bed far from Floss, and to sigh occasionally, once or twice to moan, as indeed she could, for her headache was severe.
At the sighs there were restless movements in the cot; at the first moan the little figure climbed over the rail.
'I don't mind bathing your head,' she said, her voice a little unsteady. 'Is it hurting you much?'
'Yes,' sighed the mother, 'it is very bad.'
Floss dipped her handkerchief in the water-jug, and kept laying it softly on the aching forehead. For ten minutes Mrs. Cameron allowed herself to be thus ministered to, and presently the child sat down on the bed, almost within the arm that yearned to circle her. 'Would you like me to fan it?' she whispered. 'Fanning is good.'
'I would rather you laid your little hand on it,' said the mother.
The little hand lay there instantly.
'I think a kiss on it would do it more good than anything else,' whispered the mother, 'just a little one, sweetheart, sweetheart.'
'I couldn't,' quavered Floss. 'I promised faithfly and somenley.'