CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Floyd raised his head when Ann bent over him. Agitation and sorrow had so altered her that the change brought him to a half-sitting position.
"Flea's sick, I bet!" he burst out, without waiting to be addressed. "Don't try to fool me, Sister Ann."
As his suspicion grew within him, his eyes traveled over her face again and again; then he put his feet on the floor and stood up.
"Ye didn't tell me the truth this morning, did ye?"
Miss Shellington forced him gently back on the divan, and sat down beside him.
"I'd hoped, Floyd, dear," she said tremblingly, "that we were all going to be happy. You must be brave and help me, won't you? If you should become ill again, I think I should die."
"Then, tell me about Flea. Has Pappy Lon—"