“He’s got his senses back. Oh! Gabriella, where are you? Neddy’s all right!”
“Oh, auntie, hush! There’s no need to tell mother anything of this last danger, and if you’ll only please put Ned back to bed she won’t have to know.”
“Ain’t goin’ to bed. Been a-bed ’nough,” protested the supposed invalid. “Want my clothes. Want to go downstairs and get my supper.”
“Get my supper,” assented Luis, creeping forward from the corner where he had hidden in fear of he knew not what.
“Hello, echo! You on hand again? How’s business?” demanded Ninian, drawing the child towards him.
“First rate,” answered Ned, for his comrade, who promptly echoed: “’Strate.”
But now came the mother, hurrying up the stairs, with a bowl of gruel she had gone to prepare, and interest in which had opportunely prevented her knowing either of the reporter’s arrival or her son’s peril. And the visitor sprang to his feet again, while she welcomed him as cordially and gracefully as if she had been sitting in state, expectant, within her own pretty parlor.
One flash of her eyes toward her boy, safe in Mrs. Benton’s arms again and carefully wrapped about in her capacious apron, relieved any anxiety she might have felt in coming upon this unexpected group, and she asked, with a little burst of laughter:
“Is it possible that Ned was so quick to welcome you? Well, son, it might have been more courteous to have gone downstairs; but I’m sure our friend will pardon a little lad who’s been ill. He’s really better, isn’t he, Aunt Sally? He looks quite natural.”