“What’s the matter?” said Vince confusedly. “Fire?”
“Any one would have thought so, and that you were being scorched, making all that groaning and outcry. What’s the matter with you?”
“Nothing,” said Vince, whose dreaming was all hidden now by a mental haze. “Is anybody ill, then?”
“I’m afraid you are, my dear,” said Mrs Burnet anxiously; and she laid her cool hand upon her son’s forehead. “His head is very hot and wet, dear,” she added to the Doctor.
“Yes, I know,” he said gruffly. “Here, Vince!”
“Yes, father.”
“What did you have for your supper?”
“Oh! only a couple of slices of bread and butter, with a little jam on,” said Mrs Burnet hastily. “I cut it for him myself.”
“Nothing else?” said the Doctor.
“No, dear.”