"You are very proud of him," he suggested.
"Prouder to-day than ever."
"He looks quite a splendid fellow. Send for me if anything goes seriously wrong."
Mrs. Paragon now sat happily with Peter, for he grew continually calmer, and she felt he was safe. A proud content sank deep into her heart as she put together the story of these last days. She pondered also the doctor's words, and wondered whether Peter had consciously called Miranda to his help. Or did she lurk as a secret angel under the surface of his life?
Forty-eight hours later Peter woke from a long sleep, and found his mother beside him. He did not stir, but just accepted her. He felt too weak to talk, and, taking some food, went immediately to sleep again.
Next time he woke Mrs. Paragon was not in the room, the farmer's wife having taken charge for a moment. Peter raised himself on one elbow, wondering to feel himself so weak.
"How long have I been like this?" he asked. "I feel as if I'd been in bed for a year."
"You're all right now, lad. You've been too much in the hot sun and got a touch o' fever."
Peter looked round the room.
"Didn't I see my mother here?" he asked.