“It’s very queer.”
She started up in bed. “What’s queer?” she said. But no one answered her. She sank back again upon the pillow and wondered if she had been dreaming. If she had—
“What did you say was queer?”
It was some one else speaking this time, and the Child raised herself on her elbow and listened intently.
Then the first voice said, “Why, about the train, you know. She might have known it would be troublesome. Of course, if it weren’t so long I could manage it better, but as it is—” and the voice trailed off into a sigh.
The Child waited to hear no more. “What makes you ‘sigh like a furnace’?” she said. She had heard the Storyist quote Shakespeare with good effect.
The voice answered her; its tones were very sweet. “O, I didn’t know you were awake!” it said. “Is this where you always sleep?”
“Yes,” answered the Child. “Do you like it?”
“It’s very pretty,” said the voice. “It must be a relief to have a room small enough for convenience. Why, even this foot-board—”