“Haste you, Christie dear,” she whispered. “I thought you were in bed. It is more than time.”
Christie slowly undressed, and after kneeling a little while, laid herself down on the low bed beside her little sister. But she did not sleep. She did not even close her eyes, but lay watching sometimes the motionless figure of Effie and sometimes her shadow on the wall, wondering all the while what could keep her occupied so silently and so long. Yet when at last the book was closed and Effie began to move about the room, she could not find courage to speak to her at once.
“Effie,” she said, by and by, “did you bring me the book you promised?”
Effie started.
“Christie, I thought you were asleep! Do you know how late it is?”
“Did you bring me the book you promised?” repeated the child, eagerly.
Effie could not resist the beseeching face; and she came and seated herself on the side of the bed.
“I wanted it so much,” continued Christie. “I thought you would bring it! Did you forget it? Or were you not up there this week?”
“I was there, and I didna forget it; but—”
“Did you bring it?” cried Christie, rising, in her eagerness. “Where is it?”