"Do you feel very warm, Peterkins?"
His answer was almost inaudible, and he drooped wearily against my side, as we stood there in the white road, with the distant fringe of mountains almost dancing under quivering waves of heat.
Wiggles, panting, looked at us anxiously, his scrap of a tongue between his crooked teeth.
"We'll go right home," said I, feigning an unconcern I did not feel.
I took his hand and was terrified at the burning touch of it, realizing that the child was ill, perhaps seriously so, and that we were half a mile from home.
Something like despair came over me. It was out of the question that I could carry Peter—he was a tall boy for his age and very heavy. It only remained to put my arm about him and to coax him along, a slow and painful task.
We had covered the first half of the distance when I heard a car behind us, and turned hopefully to hail it. And when the long green body shot clearly into sight, I was suddenly faint with relief. Bill, coming back early from the club! Bill, at the wheel, his hat off, and the wind blowing his dark hair.
The car stopped.
"Mavis! It's too hot for you and Peter to be out. I didn't play—what's the matter?"
I lifted Peter in my arms.