Mrs. Ogilvie curled up comfortably, arranged her pillows, and closed her eyes. She was very sleepy, but what was the matter with her? She could not lose herself in unconsciousness. Was the perfectly still little figure by her side exercising some queer power over her, drawing something not often stirred within her heart to the surface? She turned at last and looked at the child. Sibyl was lying on her back with her eyes wide open.
“Why don’t you shut your eyes and go to sleep?” asked her mother.
“I can’t, on account of the round-and-roundness feeling,” replied Sibyl.
“What a funny little thing you are. Here, give me your hand.”
Mrs. Ogilvie stretched out her own warm hand and took one of Sibyl’s. Sibyl’s little hand was cold.
“May I come quite close to you, mother?” asked Sibyl.
“Yes, darling.”
The next instant she was lying in her mother’s arms. Her mother clasped her close to her breast and kissed her many times.
“Oh, now that’s better,” said the child with a sob. It was the first attempt at a sob which had come from her lips. She nestled cosily within her mother’s clasp.