"Will you, Hugh?" begged Shirley. "Tell about the little boy in the hospital who wouldn't eat his supper? Will you, Hugh?"
"All right, I will," promised the doctor, "if you'll march upstairs this minute."
"I'm coming, too," announced Sarah. "I was up early this morning, wasn't I, Mother?"
"Yes indeed you were," agreed her mother, catching her as she scrambled past and holding her tightly—Sarah usually had to be caught or pursued if one wanted to kiss her. "Kiss Mother good night, dearest."
Mrs. Willis understood perfectly that Sarah was saving her pride when she spoke of being up early that morning—some excuse had to be made to explain her willingness to go to bed when Shirley did.
"If Sarah had known I'm going to sleep outdoors to-night, she would have been wild to come, too," said Rosemary, when she and her mother were left alone.
"Are you sure you want to try it, dear?" asked Mrs. Willis.
"Why Mother, I've always wanted to sleep outdoors!" cried Rosemary earnestly. "I'm so tired of ordinary beds and houses—and—and things. It will be perfectly lovely to lie under a tree and see the stars over my head and pretend I am out on the desert. I'd like to sleep outdoors every night."
When Doctor Hugh came down to report that both little girls were asleep, he found his mother and sister knitting under the shaded porch light.
"I don't approve of night work for women," he informed them gravely. "Especially for those who have had as active a day as you have had. You don't want to knit, do you, Mother?"