"Come with me, and I'll put you in bed."
"Must wait for dad," he protested.
"You'll be too tired to play to-morrow. You'll be dropping asleep all day."
"Then he'll go to sleep on the floor, and have a bad back," he said.
"Whyever does he go to sleep on the floor?"
"Because he's too tired, like I was. Only if I take my boots off and kick him—very kindly, I have to kick—he wakes up and he's cross and then he gets into bed."
He stared at her, frowning, as though trying to understand or else to explain this queerness of his father's. Next minute he found himself clasped firmly in her arms. He was very thin and light—much thinner than the Mactavish babies and Jock's children.
She marched up to Mr. Peters.
"I'm putting Jimmy to bed, Mr. Peters. It's late and cold." Then she added, "May I?"
"Plezh—plezh—my dear," he said, smiling foolishly.