“How on earth did you get here?”
“Walked. How’s David?”
“Just about the same. Father says he is not suffering any pain. Did you come alone at this time of night?”
“Yes,” said Gassy, defiantly, “I did. Mrs. Willowby thought we ought to go to bed early. So we did. She let me sleep in the rose room, only I couldn’t. Mr. Willowby went to bed early, too, in the room just across the hall, and he snored awful. I stayed awake about two hours. I knew I couldn’t get to sleep unless I knew, myself, how David was, so I dressed and came. Is he going to be awful sick, Barbara? Tell me the truth; please don’t fool me!” A pair of cold little hands found their way to Barbara’s shoulders.
“We hope not, dear.”
“I wish I could sleep here to-night. I hate to be sent away.”
“But Mrs. Willowby will worry, if she finds that you have gone.”
“Can’t you telephone her that I’m here? I’ll go back to-morrow, Barbara, and I’ll be awful good if you’ll just let me sleep with you to-night. I always thought heaven was like that rose room, but I can’t sleep in it. Please let me stay here.”
Barbara slipped on her bath-robe and tiptoed down to the telephone. All was quiet in the sick-room as she passed. When she reached her own chamber, Gassy was cuddled down between the sheets. She snuggled close to her older sister with a little sob. “Even rose rooms can’t keep you from worrying, can they?” she said.