“She’s safe in her own wee crib takin’ her morning nap. She’s just new over,” answered the woman reassuringly.
Still the eyes were not satisfied.
“Did she”—he began slowly—“get—hurted?”
“No, my bairnie, she’s all safe and sound as ever. It was your own self that saved her life.”
The boy’s face lit up and he turned from one to another contentedly. His smile said: “Then I’m glad.” But not a word spoke his shy lips.
“You’re a hero, kid!” said the doctor huskily. But the boy knew little about heroes and did not comprehend.
The nurse by this time had donned her uniform and rattled up starchily to take her place at the bedside, and Morton and the doctor went away, the doctor to step once more into the lady’s room below to see if she was feeling quite herself again after her faint.
The nurse leaned over the boy with a glass and spoon. He looked at it curiously, unknowingly. It was a situation entirely outside his experience.
“Why don’t you take your medicine?” asked the nurse.
The boy looked at the spoon again as it approached his lips and opened them to speak.