“I’m here,” said Geoffrey, from the back doorstep. He rose and came towards her slowly. Something in his face made her vaguely uneasy.
“Ready for bed, old chap?” she asked. “Come on—are you tired?”
“My legs are tired,” Geoffrey said. “And my head’s queer. It keeps turning round.” He put out a little appealing hand, and Norah took it in her own. It was burning hot.
“I—I wish Mother was home,” the boy said.
Norah sat down and took him on her knee. He put his head against her.
“You must just let old Norah look after you until Mother comes back,” she said gently. The memory of the fever in the village came to her, and she turned sick with fear. For a moment she thought desperately of what she must do both for Geoffrey and for the other children.
“I won’t bath Master Geoff; he is tired,” she said to Eva. She carried the little fellow into his room and slipped off his clothes; he turned in the cool sheets thankfully.
“Lie still, old man; I’ll be back in a moment,” Norah said. She went out and called to Eva, reflecting with relief that the girl’s hard Cockney sense was not likely to fail her.
“Eva,” she said, “I’m afraid Master Geoff is ill. You know there is fever in the village, and I think he has it. I mustn’t go near any one, because I’ve been looking after him. Run over to the house and tell Mr. Linton I would like him to come over—as quickly as possible. Don’t frighten him.”
“Right-oh!” said Eva. “I won’t be ’arf a tick.”