"Margery, remember that I am a doctor, and know when I am told the truth. You must tell me what you have taken," said Tom, sternly.
Bab crept close to Tom, oblivious to everything else in hearing this hint, confirming her own fear of poison. Tom put one hand over the two little ones clasped imploringly on his shoulder, trying to remember only Margery, and to forget that this was Bab coming to him thus voluntarily.
"I always tell the truth," said Margery, replying to his question with all the indignation her strength allowed. "I haven't eaten anything; but I didn't say I hadn't taken anything. I took quinine; but it's much worse than before. I wouldn't tell you if I wasn't dying."
"Quinine! Ah, that's it! And worse than before, you say? Have you suffered like this before from quinine?" asked Tom, comfortingly patting Bab's head, which had dropped on his shoulder at the word "dying."
"Once, but not so much. I didn't think it would be so awful when I took it, though I did think I'd feel very badly. The doctor said I had an idiotsinkersy in me about taking quinine," groaned Margery.
"Did you take it purposely?" asked Tom, amazed, as he handed a prescription to Norah and bade her hasten to get it filled. "That was certainly an 'idiotsinkersy.' Why have you done such a thing? Do you like to be ill, Margery?"
"No; but—oh, my mama won't like to find me dead!" And Margery burst into open wailing, in which Bab joined.
"You are not going to die," said Tom. "Bab dearest, don't feel so dreadfully; Margery will come out all right. But why, in the name of all that's wonderful, have you deliberately taken what you knew would make you ill, little lass?"
"For your sake," said suffering Margery, as impressively as her swollen features permitted.
"For my sake!" echoed Tom, dumfounded.