John blew his nose violently and looked out of the window.
"I'd better be going," he announced.
"Yes—time for you to go," said Aunt Jane. She moved with him toward the door.
In the corridor he turned to her. "Tickled most to death, wa'n't she?—I was kind o' 'fraid she'd think it was foolish."
"If more men were foolish, the world would get along a good deal better," said Aunt Jane cryptically.
She beamed on him. "You better not come again for four-five days now, Mr. Pelton. She'd ought to keep quiet and not think about what the children are doing and what's going on.
"She can think about her pictures for a while," she added kindly as his face fell. "There's times when picture children help more than real ones—more handy for sick folks sometimes."
"I guess that's so," said the man. "I don't know as I ever saw her look so pleased—not since before we were married," he added thoughtfully.
Aunt Jane watched him march happily down the corridor. Then she turned back to the room.
The woman had spread the children in a little row along the ridge of the blanket, and was looking at them with happy eyes. She turned her gaze to Aunt Jane as she came in.