"Nobody knows it but Lallie," Punch repeated. "Lallie can sing Kevin. Oh, do sing Kevin."
Mrs. Wentworth nodded to the nurse, who departed hastily.
Punch sat on his pillow, wide-eyed and wakeful, with flushed round face and tired, unblinking eyes.
"Would you like to come and sit on my knee in the day nursery for a bit, Sonnie? Then perhaps you'll feel sleepy. I'll sing you anything you like."
"I'll come and sit on your knee till Lallie comes, then she'll sing Kevin. I don't want no other song."
"How do you know Lallie will come? She may be dining out; she may not be there."
"I fought you said it was the miggle of the night," Punch said sternly. "If it is she'll be back again."
"It is the middle of the night for little boys."
"But not for Lallie; I fink she'll come."
Mrs. Wentworth arrayed him in his blue dressing-gown and carried him into the big day nursery. She sat down in a low chair in front of the fire, with Punch warm and cuddlesome on her knee snuggled against her shoulder. He lay quite still in her arms, staring at the red glow through the bars of the high nursery fender.