“Perhaps you are like an aunt of mine,” Vi’s voice came lazily back. “She says she knows she never snores because she stayed awake all night once just to see if she did.”
Billie and Connie chuckled, which would have made Laura more indignant if she had not been so sleepy.
“Oh, for goodness sake, keep still and let me sleep,” she cried, adding ferociously: “I saw a knife around somewhere downstairs. If anybody speaks another word I’m going down and get it.”
Whether this threat had anything to do with it or not, it would be hard to say. But at any rate the girls did stop talking and settled down for sleep.
All but one of them succeeded in drifting off into the land of nod in no time at all, but that one of them—who was Billie—lay for a long time with eyes wide open staring into the dark.
Then gradually the soft lapping of waves upon the beach soothed her into a sort of doze where tall thin men and shabby picture albums and queer little huts were all confused and jumbled together. Only one thing stood out clearly, and that was the great searchlight, twinkling, winking, glowing, sending its friendly message far out upon the sea.
Then all the troubled visions disappeared in a soft black cloud. Billie was asleep.