An eclipse it certainly was. Slowly, surely, the black shadow crept, crept, over the silver disk; now a quarter of its surface was hidden; now it went creeping, creeping on toward the half.
"It is going to be a total eclipse!" said Mrs. Merryweather. "I suppose I ought to wake some of them."
She stood a moment more, looking irresolutely at the sleeping children. "I cannot possibly wake them!" she said at last. "Little lambs! they are sleeping so beautifully, and they certainly were not quite themselves this afternoon. Besides, there will be plenty more eclipses; I'll go and wake some of the others."
The black shadow crept on. Hardly less silent, Mrs. Merryweather paused before the tent where her daughters slept. Bell and Gertrude scorned cots, and their mattresses were spread on the floor at night, and rolled up in the daytime. There the two girls lay, still and placid, statue-like, save for the gentle heaving of their quiet breasts. A fair picture for a mother to look on. Miranda Merryweather looked, and drew a happy breath; looked again, and shook her head. "I cannot wake them!" she murmured to herself. "They are both tired after that expedition; Bell paddled very hard on the way back; she was much more flushed than I like to see her, when she came in. And Gertrude sleeps so lightly, I fear she might not get to sleep again if I were to wake her now."
The black shadow crept on; the mother crept into the boys' tent, and stood beside Gerald's cot. The lad lay with his arms flung wide apart; his curly hair was tossed over his broad open forehead; his clear-cut features were set as if in marble.
"He has such a beautiful forehead!" said Mrs. Merryweather. "He sleeps so very sound, that if I were to wake him he might not be able to sleep again. Dear Jerry!"
She moved over to Phil's cot: Phil was uneasy, and as she stopped to straighten the bedclothes, he turned on his side, muttering something that sounded like "Bother breakfast!"
"Poor laddie!" said Mrs. Merryweather. "He looks as if he might have a headache. I wish I had made him take a nice little cup of hot malted milk before he went to bed. It is out of the question to wake him, when he is sleeping so uneasily."
She left the tent, with hardly a glance toward Jack Ferrers, who lay in the farthest cot. The idea of waking him, and having him disturb her own boys, was too preposterous to be entertained for an instant.
The black shadow had crept entirely over the moon; no silver disk now, only a shield of dull bronze; "like some of the Pompeiian bronzes!" Mrs. Merryweather thought. "It is very extraordinary. I suppose I really ought to wake Miles."