“No, of course not. Well, they must only come to us.”
“But the Tired People?” Norah asked.
Miss de Lisle interposed.
“There are hardly any now—and two of the boys go away to-morrow,” she said. “The south wing could be kept entirely for the children, couldn’t it, Mr. Linton? Katty could look after them there—they are fond of her.”
“That’s excellent,” said Mr. Linton. “I really think the risk to the house wouldn’t be much. Any of the Tired People who were worried would simply have to go away. But the children would not come near any of them; and, please goodness, they won’t develop fever at all.”
“Then I’ll go back and have a room prepared,” Miss de Lisle said; “and then I’ll get you, Mr. Harry, to help me bundle them up and carry them over. We mustn’t leave them in this place a minute longer than we can help. That lovely fat Michael!” murmured Miss de Lisle incoherently. She hurried away.
There was a hum of an approaching motor presently, and the doctor’s car came up the drive. Dr. Hall, a middle-aged and over-worked man, looked over Geoffrey quickly, and nodded to himself, as he tucked his thermometer under the boy’s arm. Geoffrey scarcely stirred in his heavy sleep.
“Fever of course,” said the doctor presently, out in the hall. “No, I can’t say yet whether he’ll be bad or not, Miss Norah. We’ll do our best not to let him be bad. Mrs. Hunt away, is she? Well, I’ll send you up a nurse. Luckily I’ve a good one free—and she will bring medicines and will know all I want done.” He nodded approval of their plans for Alison and Michael. Mr. Linton accompanied him to his car.
“Get your daughter away as soon as you can,” the doctor said. “It’s a beastly species of fever; I’d like to hang those tinkers. The child in the village died this afternoon.”
“You don’t say so!” Mr. Linton exclaimed.