“Come, then, let us telephone quick,” said the child. He seized master’s hand, pulled him from the room, and stood trembling with excitement while master called up his family physician.
“Will you come in my bed, and get warm till he comes?” asked master of the child.
“Oh, no, no,” said the little boy in an agony, “not while muvver is so cold. Come, now, let us do something to make her warm.”
Master didn’t know what to do. He cast an appealing look at his wife’s door. Oh! if he could only ask her to help him. He didn’t quite like to disturb her. Finally he sighed, and allowed the boy to drag him to the bed-room.
The little fellow ran to the bath-room. His face was more cheerful, now that he was doing something. He let the hot water run, and to my master’s astonishment, seized a rubber bag and filled it.
“Often and often I’ve done this for muvver after Sarah went away,” he said with a pitiful smile.
While staring at him, it came to my mind that I had heard some servants’ gossip about Mrs. Waverlee turning economical, so she could send money home for the war. Instead of keeping two maids, she had one only, who came in the morning, and went away at night.
The child was wagging his dark head at my master in a confidential fashion. “Muvver’s not very strong, you know. Father said when he went away, ‘Take good care of her, boysie, till I come back.’”
Master groaned so pitifully, that I knew the telegram had said that the child’s father had been killed in a battle.
“Now, Mr. Granton,” said the little boy, “please heap your hannies with boysie’s bed-clothes, while I slip this in by muvver’s poor cold feet.”