“You’re very uncomfortable. Yes, I know how your head aches. Oh, what pretty hair! It’s heavy, isn’t it? Let me roll it up for you. How warm you are. No wonder.” She flew to the windows, let them down top and bottom, putting a screen at the bed to shield the patient from the draught.
She spoke in a low but extraordinarily clear voice, every syllable sharply cut.
“A bowl of cracked ice, please; now the linen. Don’t bother; I’ll find everything.”
She was already in the next room exploring. When Floyd came up with ice, she was changing the sheets; it was the most remarkable feat he had ever seen, she rolled one off and slipped on the other without disturbing the patient. Her hands were tiny, but flexible, strong; it was magic. How the room changed; everything in order, the bed fresh and clean, the patient soothed. She held Julie’s hand, whispering all kinds of encouraging things.
“Now I’m going to give you something to eat; you’re hungry, of course you are; that husband of yours starves you.”
She threw a smiling look at Floyd, who smiled back at her. She knew he spoilt his wife; he could see that.
“No, I won’t go away; I’ll stay right here.” She took a bottle of prepared food out of her bag, which she warmed on the electric heater, cooing all the time, going about noiselessly on the smallest feet Floyd had ever seen. A trained nurse from his experience was a loud, fat, middle-aged woman who upset the house, ate all day long, and had to be waited on by the family. This little fairy was so helpful, so executive; she knew it all, she hadn’t asked a question.
When Dr. McClaren came that day, he gave a quick glance around and said:
“Now everything will be all right.”
Floyd followed him down stairs. After a short silence the doctor spoke.