“But you won’t wake him for it,” said Dick.
“I am sorry, but I must. The boy must have his medicine regularly; it is a heart stimulant.”
“Well, let me give it to him,” said Dick.
“You may if you like,” answered the nurse. “Come into the dressing-room. I will give you the glass, and you must raise his head a little and whisper to him. He’ll open his eyes and drink it, and then go off to sleep again.”
As the nurse spoke she opened a bottle of medicine, measured out a dose carefully, and gave it to the young man. He took it into the sick-room, and, placing it on a table, bent down over the little patient.
The boy was sleeping, starting now and then in his sleep, now and then muttering a word.
“Dick, I’m glad you are with me—I’d like you to be Sir Dick, it would sound so pretty, so pretty.”
“Wake up, Piers,” said his cousin. The moment he spoke the child opened his eyes.
“It is time for your medicine, little chap.”
“Oh, I hate that nasty stuff,” said the boy, shuddering and turning his head away.