Peter came a little nearer. “This, Dickie, is the sleepy song the Pied Piper played the children when he carried them away to the Wonderful Land. So shut your eyes and listen, and you will sleep and dream of running streams, and flowers, [Pg 202]and of cool green grass, and beautiful birds, and horses with eagles’ wings, that will carry you away gently on their backs to the place where children get well.” Peter’s voice dropped to a murmur.
And then once more came the music, a low crooning lullaby, full of adorable restful tenderness. Dickie’s eyes closed drowsily. The music crooned on, rocking softly, soothingly. Then Dickie gave a little gentle sigh, his fingers relaxed their hold on Anne’s, his small hand fell open on the counterpane, and Dickie slept.
“Thank God!” breathed the old doctor. And he took off his spectacles and wiped them.
Peter looked at Anne. She nodded, and rose from her chair. They stole softly from the room together. They passed down the corridor. Then Anne turned and spoke.
“I can’t say anything but ‘Thank you.’” She smiled, a little wavering smile, and her eyes were misty.
“Oh,” said Peter with a huge sigh, “I’m glad. He’s—he’s such a jolly little chap.”
And then he looked up, for a woman was coming towards them.
“It is Mrs. Sheldon, Dickie’s aunt,” said Anne, [Pg 203]explanatory. “She—” And she broke off, amazed at the sudden rigidity of Peter’s face.
“Oh!” said Millicent as she saw the two. And she stopped dead.
“What is it?” queried Anne, astonished. “Do you two know each other?”