“What makes you stay there?” asked the Child. “Why not go somewhere else?” She was by this time sitting up in bed, her hands clasped about one knee, intensely interested.
“I have to,” answered Arabella, with another sigh. “I have to do what you tell me to.”
“It’s too bad,” declared the Child; “I’ll change that to-morrow, too.” Then she suddenly remembered her manners. “Won’t you sit down?” she asked.
“How can I up here?” Arabella replied. “My train is in the way. If you could help me down I should like it.”
So the Child reached out her two hands and, lowering Arabella to the bed, placed her carefully upon the counterpane.
“Aren’t you going to bring Sir Marmaduke, too?” asked her visitor in dismay.
“Is he up there? I didn’t see him,” said the Child.
“He and I were talking when you first woke up,” answered Arabella. “Don’t you remember? Certainly he is here. He has to be always at my side, you know. At least, that’s what you said.”
“So I did,” acknowledged the Child. Then she began to laugh. “O, dear!” she gasped, “I didn’t think how it would be, you see—his always being with you! O, I didn’t really mean that! It’s too funny!” and the bed shook so that Sir Marmaduke almost fell off the foot-board.