“I reckon it must of upset her to find the old lady so bad off. Soon as she’d gone I flew upstairs to see how the old soul was takin’ it. But she’s got her door locked, an’ wouldn’t answer or let on she was there when I called her name. Oh, I reckon I’m too common to hear about the grand niece! But you go up, dearie, an’ hear the news. She’s your baby—she’ll talk for you.”
“I—I can’t!” Julie gasped and put her hand to her head. “I feel so—Oh, I feel so bad,” she faltered.
“Why, you do look real white!” Mrs. Watkins exclaimed with concern. “What’s the matter? How do you feel bad?”
Julie sat weakly down in a chair. “I—feel—shaky,” she got out slowly, speaking with difficulty.
“You lie right down, an’ don’t do a thing for a spell. I’ll bet it’s the heat—you ain’t used to this city heat—an’ you seem to have a kind of a nervous chill, too.”
“I’m—I’m all right,” Julie got out, struggling to keep her teeth from chattering. “I reckon it is the heat. I—Oh don’t—don’t bother. I’ll just lie—down a little bit.”
She went unsteadily over, Mrs. Watkins piloting her, and lay down upon the sagging plush sofa, a sofa that had adjusted its spring to accommodate the weight, and probably the sorrows also, of many human beings before her.
“Yes—now, that’s right,” Mrs. Watkins said, giving her a pat as she settled a cushion for her. “What you want is to keep right still. Don’t stir now. Just lay still an’ think about nice things. Think about Miss Fogg’s niece bein’ here at last. Ain’t that a wonder? It ought to please you, after you worked so hard to get her here.”
Looking up at her from the sofa, Julie suddenly brought her hands tight together, and burst into a high startling scream of laughter.
“Why, so it was! It was all my doing!” she gasped, shaken by one shuddering gust of laughter after another.