“Then,” said Peter gallantly, “I wear it with a good will as an omen of fortune’s favours. You did not, however, ask me a second time.”
Anne drew a quick breath. “No,” she responded. “Yet—you came.”
“Yes,” said Peter quietly, “I came.”
Anne might have spoken again, but they were at the door by now, and they passed [Pg 201]into the hall together and up the wide shallow stairs.
The sick-room was in half light, for the curtains were partly drawn. The doctor was sitting by the bed, his eyes watching, grave. Miss Haldane was at a little distance. They both looked up as the two entered.
Anne crossed to the bedside, Peter following.
“Dickie,” said Anne, softly and distinctly, “I have brought the Piper to you.” She sat down and took one of the small hot hands in hers.
Peter came to the foot of the bed. He drew his pipe from his pocket. As the first sweet notes of the pipe filled the room Dickie lay still. It was the friendly, seductive little tune Peter had first played to the child. No one stirred and the magic piping breathed through the air.
“More,” said Dickie, as Peter stopped. And the request was quiet, conscious.