“Yes, like I did last night. Didn’t you like it?”
“I was a little—afraid,” said the boy very slowly. He looked anxiously round the room—“I wish—Dick were—here,” he said again, “or—or mother. I was very much afraid.” And now his eyes, luminous and troubled, were fixed upon the cold, inscrutable face of the red-haired nurse.
“There is nothing to frighten you, child, quite the contrary,” said the nurse. “You must just lie quiet and fix your eyes on me.”
“I don’t want that bright light,” said the boy.
“Never mind the light—don’t think of it. I want to send you off to sleep.”
“Why don’t you give me something to send me to sleep? When mother had bad toothache the doctor gave her something out of a bottle and she went to sleep. I wish you’d give me something out of a bottle. I don’t like to go to sleep your way.”
“Mine is a much, much better way. Now you’ll do what I tell you. Give me both your hands.”
“I—I won’t!” said the child, struggling and beginning to cry feebly.
“I am going to stroke your forehead quite gently, and you shall look in my eyes. Don’t look away. See, I’m going to comfort you.”
The boy fidgeted and tried to shut his eyes.