"Then what are you?"
"A troublesome comfort. Nurse said so, and it is true."
She sat straight up in bed, with her knees drawn up and her hands clasped round them. Her hair was rough, and there were no little stiff pigtails telling of nurse's energetic brushing. On her hands there were bruises and scratches that hurt her; but nothing mattered now that she was within reach of the comfortable arms, and could lay her head on the blue serge knee.
"Mummy, is Dick well?"
"Quite well, darling."
"Mother"—she pressed closer and hid her face—"I am sorry, but I don't know how to say it. I didn't like the twins to think me a baby, and I felt quite certain that I could get back."
"Perhaps you are too certain, darling."
"You mean," said Susie, "that there is too much talk and too little do."
"Perhaps that is what I mean, Susie; but when I try to think about it clearly I only see a poor little cold, frightened child, and Dick as warm as toast."
"I never thought about it, mother. I only prayed and prayed that he might not get bronchitis."