It did not occur to Nettie that it would have been right for her to tell it. For one thing she had 'promised,' and with these children that word was a solemn one. Then, too, she fully shared Denis's dislike to complain or give trouble, partly from the wish to please Granny who was 'so kind,' partly from the strange reserve one often finds in even very little children. Few but those who have watched them very constantly and closely have any idea how much children will endure rather than complain.
For some time nothing happened to cause Nettie to think more seriously of poor little Den's strange fancy. He seemed to wish not to speak of it, and she did not lead him to do so, hoping always that he might come to forget it. But she did not forget her other promise. Every time that Denis had to traverse the dreaded gallery, his faithful little sister, if she knew of it, was sure to start up to go with him. They used to run as fast as the slippery polished floor would allow them, holding each other's hands, and, Denis at least, steadily avoiding to look at the portraits. In the morning early he did not mind it so much, though even then Nettie often came to fetch him, if he had not already made his appearance when Linda and she were summoned to the nursery breakfast.
'It's queer how Miss Nettie and Master Denis cling to each other,' the under-nurse remarked one day. 'I never noticed it so much before. It's like as if he couldn't move without her.'
'Miss Nettie's a very kind little girl,' the head-nurse replied, 'but I do think she spoils Master Denis a little. He's getting a big boy.'
That very evening, as they were beginning tea—and tea-time at Christmas is always after dark—nurse told Denis to run to his brothers' room to tell them to come, for Alex and Lambert, having gone off to wash their hands, had not returned. Denis began slowly to clamber down from his chair, somewhat encumbered by Prince, who was, as usual, in his arms.
'Make haste, Master Denis,' said nurse, rather sharply, though not unkindly. 'You shouldn't have the dog always in your arms, my dear. At meal times it isn't nice.'
Denis cast an appealing glance at Nettie. She had already left her place and was at his side.
'Put Prince down, Den,' she said, and the little boy did so, while Prince, shaking himself, ran to the hearth-rug, moving round and round till he had burrowed an imaginary hole, where he comfortably ensconced himself.
'Mayn't I go instead of Denis?' said Nettie. 'I'd run much quicker.'
Another time nurse would probably have said 'yes,' but her attention was aroused. She did not quite understand Denis and Nettie, and it seemed to her that they were not just the same as usual.