But Laide did not move. After a time the calls ceased.
"She's gone to sleep. That's luck."
But the drunken girl had not gone to sleep at all; on the contrary, she was using every effort to get up the stairs again.
"Laide, come and give me a hand, child. Laide, Laide," she cried.
She evidently made no progress, for the calls still came from the bottom of the stairs, and became more and more persistent. Finally she began to cry.
"Little Laide, little Laide, come to me," she wailed. "Oh! oh! the stairs are slipping; where am I?"
A burst of laughter came from each bed.
"It's cause yer ain't come in yet, Laide; that's why yer don't come. I'll go and find yer."
"Now she's gone and we'll have some peace," said one.
"No, she'll go to look for Laide and won't find her, and it'll all begin over again. Well never get to sleep."