“No-no. I’m all right, but sort of dazed. Isn’t it silly? I wonder why I should flop like this?”
“I wonder why you shouldn’t? Get back to bed, I’m boss now.” Trixy seemed to mean what she was saying. “It is only six o’clock and you have an hour and a half more. Land knows, you need it.” She tucked Gloria in, robe and all, although a little kick shook the blue slippers out and from the bed clothes.
“My teeth are—chat-ter-ring!”
“So I hear. Shall I get you a warm drink? Have you a chill?” Trixy asked, apprehensively.
“Oh, just common nerves. The kind I had when daddy went away—and I knew—I had to go to—Aunt Harriet’s,” stammered the girl, deep in pillows. “But do tell me? What did you hear? Please tell me all—you know?”
“If you aren’t a real baby after all!” half scolded Trixy, sitting on the edge of the bed beside the shivering girl. “Well, all I know is that Tillie was sitting with Jack when she seemed to grow faint. Miss Alton was called and she called the doctor. He said, Miss Alton told me, that Jack should be moved to a very quiet room and have a nurse installed. That’s lots nicer than being carried off to some rubber tired sanitarium.”
“Oh yes, lots.”
“I don’t suppose you can get to sleep again?”
“No, I’m sure I can’t.”
“Then just keep warm, and forget the bad dream. I often have them myself and they seem so real I’m a wreck the whole next day. My favorite is a horrible bloody murder with my hands dripping gore. Though I don’t do the murder I always get mixed up in gore. Last time I found it was Mabel’s fudge that hadn’t been entirely washed from my guilty fingers as we turned out lights to fool Wilson.”