“He is so tired, he does not know what to do,” said Ailwin. “No, don’t get down into the water again, dear. I’ll carry you. Put your arm round my neck, and I’ll carry you.”
And the good-natured woman carried him up to the roof, and laid him down on a bundle of bedding there, promising to bring him breakfast presently. She threw an apron over his head, to cover it from the hot sun, and bade him lie still, and not think of anything till she came.
“Only one thing,” said Oliver. “Take particular care of the gravel in the tub.”
“Gravel!” exclaimed Ailwin. “The fowls eat gravel; but I don’t see that we can. However, you shall have your way, Oliver.”
The tired boy was asleep in a moment. He knew nothing more till he felt vexed at somebody’s trying to wake him. It was Mildred. He heard her say,—
“How very sound asleep he is! I can’t make him stir. Here, Oliver,—just eat this, and then you can go to sleep again directly.”
He tried to rouse himself, and sat up; but his eyes were so dim, and the light so dazzling, that he could not see, at first, what Mildred had in her hands. It was one of her mother’s best china plates,—one of the set that was kept in a closet up-stairs; and upon it was a nice brown toasted fish, steaming hot.
“Is that for me?” asked Oliver, rubbing his eyes.
“Yes, indeed, for who but you?” said Ailwin, whose smiling face popped up from the stairs. “Who deserves it, if you do not, I should like to know? It is not so good as I could have wished, though, Oliver. I could not broil it, for want of butter and everything; and we have no salt, you know. But, come! Eat it, such as it is. Come, begin!”
“But have you all got some too?” asked the hungry boy, as he eyed the fish.