"It's very small," said Gladys, which was true, though even if it had not been so, she would probably have tried to get out of Roger's proposal, for she was not half so fond of his early morning visits as he was. In the days of old "nurse" such doings were not allowed, but after she left, Gladys had not the heart to be very strict with Roger, and now in spite of her faint objection, she knew quite well she would have to give in, in the end.
"So's mine," observed Roger, though Gladys could not see what that had to do with it. But she said nothing, and for about half a minute there was silence in the dark little room. Then again.
"Gladdie," came from the corner, "mayn't I come? If we squeezed ourselves?"
"Very well," said Gladys, with a little sigh made up of many different feelings. "You can come and try."
But a new difficulty arose.
"I can't find my way in the dark. I don't 'amember how the room is in the light," said Roger dolefully. "When I first waked I couldn't think where we were. Can't you come for me, Gladdie?"
"How can I find my way if you can't," Gladys was on the point of replying, but she checked herself! She felt as if she could not speak the least sharply to her little brother, for he had nobody but her to take care of him, and try to make him happy. So she clambered out of her bed, starting with the surprise of the cold floor, which had no carpet, and trying to remember the chairs and things that stood in the way, managed to get across the room to the opposite corner where stood Roger's bed, without any very bad knocks or bumps.
"I'm here," cried Roger, as if that was a piece of news, "I'm standing up in my bed jigging up and down. Can you find me, Gladdie?"
"I'm feeling for you," Gladys replied. "Yes, here's the edge of your cot. I would have found you quicker if you had kept lying down."
"Oh, then, I'll lie down again," said Roger, but a cry from Gladys stopped him.