With a swift shock of fear Audrey remembered what had happened the previous evening—the little thinly-clad body lying outside the bed-clothes, exposed to the draught from the open window. She coloured guiltily, but for a moment she hesitated to speak. It was so dreadful to have to heap more blame upon herself—to have to make everyone think more hardly of her, just when she had begun to try to make them think better. But once again she conquered herself, and so took another step, and a long one, along the new but stony road she had set out to tread.
Faith looked grave as she listened. She adored her baby sister, and she found it hard not to blame Audrey. "I ought not to have gone away," she began irritably, but stopped, as it struck her what a self-righteous and conceited thing it was that she was saying. "I had better put her back to bed again, I expect," she concluded, more gently.
"I suppose so," agreed Audrey doubtfully. She did not in the least know what to do in a case of illness. Mary came to the rescue. Mary had lots of brothers and sisters at home, and had had a good deal of experience.
"I shouldn't, miss," she said, "in this summer weather it is so hard to keep them covered up, and restless as Miss Joan is, she wouldn't have the bedclothes over her more'n a minute at a time. I'd give her a nice deep hot bath here by the fire, and then wrap her up in a big shawl, and keep her by the fire. It'll be hot for anybody that's holding her, but I believe it'll drive the chill out of her quicker than anything."
"I'll do anything to get her well again," said Faith eagerly. So a bath was made ready—all the water that was needed for breakfast was used for it, but that was a trifling matter, and Mary's advice was followed to the letter.
"Now I'll get her some hot milk," said Mary, as she arranged the last wrap around the little patient, and put the cookery book under Faith's feet for a footstool.
"Oh!" gasped Faith, "don't make up too big a fire, Mary, or I shall really explode!"
Audrey, ashamed and sorry, moved about unobtrusively trying to do what she could; but it was mortifying to her to find how little she could do. At last it occurred to her to go upstairs and see if Tom and Debby wanted any help in the fastening of strings and buttons, and the brushing of hair.
"Oh dear," she sighed, "you have only one button left on your frock, Debby, and the string of your apron is broken. Can't you put on another?"
"They've all only got one string, you will find a safety pin somewhere, I have it pinned gen'rally."