Mother assured him that they were not a dream. He could get up now and put them on, for presently he and she would be setting out to see their old friend, Dr. Redfield.
Little David did not instantly hop out of bed, as she had supposed he would. Little David sat very still. He looked at Mother and at the floor. Then he suddenly lay down again and turned his face to the wall.
"You want to put them on, don't you?"
Mother seemed greatly puzzled. She waited, but David did not move. He said nothing. It was as though he had grown suddenly deaf.
"You had a fine time yesterday, didn't you?" she asked, but David did not reply. He flattened himself against the wall. And Mother added: "It was great fun, wasn't it?—to go to the barber shop with Doctor and afterward to get trouvers?"
There was no sign of life in the little boy, until presently his foot began to wiggle. By degrees he turned over and slowly sat up.
Mother did not seem to see him; she was seated at a low table strewn with toilet articles that sparkled under the rays of the gas-jet. She was dressing her hair, and her arm swung in long, even strokes; from time to time she paused to wind something from the teeth of the white comb about her fingers, which she afterwards tucked deftly into a small wicker box beneath the tilted mirror. In the meantime David was looking at her with a very long face, and by and by he slid quietly off the bed and went to her, pressing himself against her knees.
"What else," she inquired, "did Dr. Redfield give you?"
David did not answer. He pushed his face deep into Mother's lap.