But the touch of that soft, tender, and strong hand,—was not that real? And now the hand was withdrawn.
"Hullo, Rodney! That you?" A small, piping voice from the bath-tub thus spoke.
"Run and get another blanket," said Mrs. Ffolliott.
In another moment the blanket was tightly wrapped about the boy in his dripping nightgown, and Rodney had taken him again in his arms. Thus the procession started back to the chamber they had just left. Mrs. Ffolliott was now weeping aloud and as unrestrainedly as a child.
"What's the row, anyway?" asked a weak voice from Lawrence's shoulder.
"Wait," said Carolyn from behind.
"I won't wait, either," said the boy, feebly, but quite in character. "Tell me now."
"You've been ill."
"Have I? I feel kinder queer, I do believe."
A silence followed, and continued, until the boy had been invested with a dry night-robe and covered in bed.