"Well—"
"His back'll be bad to-morrow if he lies on the floor."
"The ugly man will make him go to bed, because if he doesn't they won't have anywhere to walk," she said, determined to save his arm at any cost.
"D'you think so?" he asked eagerly.
"Yes, quite sure. He'll be quite safe. Where's your nighty?"
He darted into Number 15 and came back with a minute bundle.
"I don't have to have nighties now. Gran said I was grown up now I was coming to Australia. So I wear pyjamas, made out of the same stuff as Dad's," he explained, undressing hurriedly and putting them on with considerable pride. "Last night was the first time I wore them. Only Daddy never looked, with those other men there."
A lump came into Marcella's throat as he neatly folded his clothes and laid them in a heap on the floor.
"There's a pocket, look!" he said, afraid that she would miss any of the proud points of his pyjamas. "Gran put a silver sixpence in it, for luck, and a little letter. But I can't read yet."
He fumbled in the pocket which was just big enough for his hand. There was the sixpence and a little handkerchief with rabbits sitting perkily at each corner. The letter was a small text-card with a bright rosebud painted on it.