“Why, dearie! What are you doing out of your bed at this hour?”
“Don’t scold me, Mumsey, I haven’t been in it, only lying on the outside, ’cause I thought you might need me; do you?”
“No, honey, certainly not. You must undress at once and get into bed.”
“But, mother, is Charles worse? If he isn’t please let me go and sit with Mammy while you come in here and go to bed; you have been up all night. If he isn’t worse you can be spared, and I’ll be all the help Mammy needs. If he is worse you need me, anyway. I’ve had a long rest, and been asleep, too, though I tried hard not to.”
As she talked, Jean tiptoed down the stairs, and, coming close to her mother, slipped her arms about her waist and nestled her head against her shoulder. The past three months had made a great change in Jean. For a long time it seemed as though she never meant to grow another inch, for at thirteen she was no taller than a child of eleven, although plump and strong beyond the average child. Then she suddenly took a start and shot up, up, up, until now she was fully as tall as Constance, but slight and pliable as a willow wand.
Mrs. Carruth laid her arms caressingly about her shoulders, and rested her cheek against the wonderful hair: hair of the deepest, richest bronze, and soft and wavy to a degree.
“My little woman,” she said, very tenderly.
“If I truly am, then let me do a little woman’s part. You are tired and terribly worried about Charles. Let me come in and help.”
“There is so little we can do, Jean. We have done practically all we know how to do, and Dr. Black asked me to ’phone if there seemed to be any pronounced change. I haven’t said anything to Mammy, because I do not want to alarm her more than I must; but I would give anything to communicate with him, and the wires are down.”
“Yes, I know they are; Connie told me so before she went home, and that was one reason she wanted me to stay here: she was afraid you would need help during the night and be unable to get it.”