"Yes," she answered, throwing the door open.
We four leaned forward and looked in. A smile lit up Brush's face as he saw us. "How are you now?" I asked, in a loud whisper.
"I'm all right," he whispered back, although his hollow eyes and cheeks told a tale that stole away all our hopes. We withdrew, and the door was slowly closed.
Next morning as I was coming down from the dormitory I paused at Brush's door to listen. I heard footsteps moving about softly, then the door opened and one of the big girls came out with a white pitcher in her hand. I started to go on downstairs, when she called to me in a whisper, "Frank, go down to the spring and get some fresh water for Brush, will you, that's a good boy?"
I took the pitcher and went quietly downstairs. As soon as I was outside the yard, I ran as hard as I could to the spring, glad at the prospect of a chance to see my friend again. Warren and Lester met me as I was coming up the hill.
"Did you see him?" one of them asked.
"No, but I'm going to," I answered.
"Ask him if we can do anything for him?" said Lester.
Just as I reached the head of the stairs the same big girl appeared. I handed her the pitcher; she took it and was about to enter the room, when I caught her arm. "Just let me take a look at Brush, will you?" I whispered.