“Never mind my face, dear, if it does not frighten poor Geordie. How is poor Geordie?”
“I do not think he is any better. I never saw him so fretful, and so hot and ill. And he cries so dreadfully!”
Chapter Eight.
New Quarters.
Ailwin presently made George’s supper, with milk, a little thickened with meal. They were all about the child, watching how he would take it, when a loud crack was heard.
“What is that?” cried Oliver.
“It is a crack,” said Ailwin, “in the wall or somewhere. I heard just such a one while Mildred was gone out to play, after dinner.”
“And there was another while you were away,” said Mildred. “Some plaster fell that time:—look here! In this corner.—What is the matter, Oliver? What makes you look so frightened? What does it mean?”