At the entrance of Cleo and Julia (Helen did not come in) Kitty all but bounced out of the little white bed, and then, when she could get her thin arms around Cleo's neck—then the tears fell.
"That will be good for her," said the nurse very quietly to Julia. "She has been so wrought up, the outburst will relieve the strain."
But how Kitty could cry! And how she did yell! Cleo patted her shoulders and soothed her with every sort of affectionate protestation, but all the girl seemed to want to do was cry, and cry she did for so long a time, the scouts felt more helpless with her than they had in the real critical stage of the emergency.
"You be good, Kitty," said Cleo finally. "And I'll go right up to the landing and shout for Uncle Pete. Then, when he comes over, I'll tell him all about it—that is how you are perfectly all right," she corrected herself. "If you are very quiet, and good, maybe the nurse will let me in again to tell you what he says."
"And do you think I'm going to stay in this horspittal all night?" protested Kitty. "Don't I know what they did to my mother."
This started another outburst, and seeing the hysterical child was not apt to soon be quieted, the nurse insisted on her swallowing a dose of bromide, and at that juncture the girls quietly stole from the bedside.
Gerald "dropped" Julia at her cottage, then Cleo and Helen were driven to the landing. No need to shout over to the island, for Uncle Pete stood there, on the narrow dock, watching the road with anxious eyes.
It was hard to assure him of Kitty's safety, and only his personal knowledge of the power of the scouts, gleaned from his own experience when they had rescued him some weeks before, did finally allay his fears. "We'll fetch her back, first thing in the morning," they promised, and then they watched the old man pull his oars with a weary stroke, toward the lonely little island, called Luna Land.