“Thank heaven, the last page!... Heigho! I am weary....”
She sank back in her chair; and as her eyes closed, her hand upon the last corrected page, she fell fast asleep.
When Caroline awoke in the greying dawn, the small Betty was sitting in a chair near the boy’s bed, solemnly reading by the guttering candle. The child had set a kettle to boil; and tea-cups and an old brown teapot of the kind that is called toby shone invitingly on the little table whereon the candle feebly struggled against the cold light of the coming day.
Caroline roused, and, walking to the child, she stroked the dainty little head.
Betty rose, fetched the kettle that purred on the stove, and filled the teapot; and, when she had let it stand for a spell, she drew off a cup of tea.
She looked round.
Caroline was kneeling by the bed of the sleeping boy, her head buried in her arms.
Betty slipped quietly from the room.