“No,” scoffed little May, who, it seemed, must have often been called upon to relay messages, tiny tot that she was.
At this point the baby started to scream. It had really been neglected, and Ellen immediately began fixing its complicated food. The mother stirred and finally opened her eyes.
“Sh-s-s-s-h!” whispered Marty. He crept noiselessly over to the bed, put a brown hand on the white brow and looked so lovingly at the stricken woman that Gloria’s heart leapt. To have a mother, even a sick mother! What a blessing!
“Better, ma?” asked the boy close to the rumpled pillow.
“Yes—dearie,” replied the woman, in tones stronger than might have been expected. “She’s an angel.” This was meant for Gloria.
“Ye-ah, that’s it,” agreed Marty eagerly, while the other little ones gathered around beaming and exclaiming. Their mother was awake and she was better! What else was there to ask for? Their spirits rebounded electrically.
“Her nourishment?” pressed Gloria. “This is the time she must have that.”
The baby was dropped unceremoniously into May’s lap, but having the “bottle” made up for that discomfit. Ellen and Gloria heated the small saucepan of broth (left by Mrs. Berg the day previous) and without delaying longer than the time necessary to put the broth on a saucer and to put the saucer and spoon on a new pie pan, used as a tray, the two emergency nurses timidly began their feeding.
Gloria knew, instinctively, that the woman would now show decided improvement. The sleep and semi-coma from the overdose of her medicine had been spent, and now, perhaps, all would be well, and she, Gloria, might get back to her own urgent affairs.
During the past hour she could not get the white face of her Aunt Hattie out of her mind. It seemed to call her—to plead with her.