"That must have been what made me dream about birds," said Ferdy to himself, though he spoke aloud without knowing it. "I must have heard them in my sleep."
"You have had a nice sleep," said a voice from the other side of his bed, and, looking towards her, Ferdy saw Flowers, already dressed and with a pleasant smile on her face. "Are you feeling better, Master Ferdy, dear?"
The little boy waited a moment or two before he replied.
"My head isn't so sore, and I'm not so tired, but I don't think I want to get up even if I might. I want Chrissie to come and sit beside me. What o'clock is it, Flowers?"
"Just six o'clock, sir. You will have to wait a little before Miss Christine can come. I daresay she's tired, poor dear, and she may sleep late this morning; perhaps you will be able to sleep a little more yourself, Master Ferdy. Would you like a drink of milk?"
"Yes," said Ferdy, "I would like some milk, but I can't go to sleep again; I've too much on my mind," with a deep sigh.
He spoke in such an "old-fashioned" way that, sorry as the maid was for him, she could scarcely help smiling a little. She gave him the milk and lifted him very, very gently a little farther on to the pillows.
"Does it hurt you, Master Ferdy?" she asked anxiously.
"N—no, I don't think so," he replied; "but I feel all queer. I believe all my bones have got put wrong, and p'r'aps they'll never grow right again."
"Never's a long word, my dear," said Flowers cheerfully. The truth was she scarcely knew what to say, and she was glad to turn away and busy herself with some little tidying up at the other side of the room.