"That'd be telling. 'Tisn't professional to tell. Doctor says if a man wants to succeed, he's got to be as dumb as a noyster in business!"
"Pshaw!" said Ann, "Aunty'll tell. She always counts. Then you don't want a cookie?"
"Well—later on—Cricky! here's some one coming! You scoot—pike it!"
"I won't!" Ann stood her ground, peering eagerly around the rose bush. "It's only Esther Coombe. She'll be coming to see Aunt—no—she's coming here! Hi, Bubble, wake him up—quick!"
"Hum, Hum!" said Bubble in a loud voice, rattling a chair. The sleeper made no movement.
Ann, brave through anxiety, flew across the room and shook him with all the strength of her small hands. The heavy lids lifted and still Ann shook.
"Is it an earthquake?" asked the victim politely.
"No—it's a patient! Oh, do get up. Oh, goodness gracious, look at your hair!"
The doctor passed his hand absently over a disordered head. "Yes," he said, "I have always thought that shaking is not good for hair. Dear me! I believe I have been asleep!"
Ann threw him a glance of mingled admiration and reproach and vanished through the parlour door just as the step of the patient sounded upon the stone steps.