“I’m afraid you’re cold.”
“I’m as comfortable as I deserve; it’s all schooling, you know. Please go to sleep again.” His teeth were chattering as he spoke, but he added: “I’m all right.”
After a silence she said: “You must not get chilled. Bring your bed into the tent. There is room for you.”
“Oh no, that isn’t necessary. I’m standing it very well.”
“You’ll be sick!” she urged, in a voice of alarm. “Please drag your bed inside the door. What would I do if you should have pneumonia to-morrow? You must not take any risk of a fever.”
The thought of a sheltered spot, of something to break the remorseless wind, overcame his scruples, and he drew his bed inside the tent and rearranged it there.
“You’re half frozen,” she said. “Your teeth are chattering.”
“It isn’t so much the cold,” he stammered. “I’m tired.”
“You poor boy!” she exclaimed, and rose in her bed. “I’ll get up and heat some water for you.”
“I’ll be all right, in a few moments,” he said. “Please go to sleep. I shall be snug as a bug in a moment.”