Gretel tried to explain about the sun, but the words would not come right, and she gave it up in despair. She liked the soft, cool thing on her forehead, but the trouble was it did not stay cool long enough. Everything was hot, burning hot. If somebody would only give her some cold water to drink, but when at last, a glass was held to her lips, and she tried to swallow, the water, like everything else, seemed hot, and it did not quench her thirst.
There was pain, too, dreadful pain all over her, and every time she tried to move into a more comfortable position, some force seemed to hold her still. At last she found that she could speak, and then she began to call piteously for Percy and Barbara; Jerry and Geraldine; and Higgins, but nobody answered—nobody seemed to understand. She could see faces—so many faces—but there was not one among them, that she knew. Once she was sure she heard some one crying, and for a moment she thought it was Barbara, but when she looked again a strange face was bending over her, and a lady dressed in white, with a cap on her head, was offering her something to drink.
Gradually she began to remember things in a vague, confused way. She remembered going to New York on the train, and trying to find the Lipheims. Was she still in the street, she wondered? If so, it had grown strangely quiet and cool. She was no longer burning up, only she was so very tired. She must have walked a long way, and then—what had happened? There had been a great noise of shouting, and something big had come terribly close to her, and after that she did not remember any more.
While she was still pondering on this subject, in a weak, half conscious way, some one bent over her, and she saw again the lady in the white dress and cap. The lady did not speak, but she smiled, and her smile was pleasant, and somehow reassuring. Then she put something that looked like a tube under Gretel’s tongue, and when she took it out again, she looked pleased, and said to some one, the little girl could not see—
“She is much better; the fever has gone down to a hundred and one. That is a great gain over yesterday.”
Gretel wanted to say that she understood, and to ask some questions, but she was so tired that it seemed easier just to lie still with her eyes shut. She drifted off into a dream, in which she seemed to hear Percy and Barbara talking about “Lohengrin.”
“Poor little girl; poor little kiddie.” Yes, that was surely Percy’s voice, and it did not sound angry either, only very sorry. Gretel did not open her eyes, but she tried to remember things. Why was her brother sorry, and why had she expected him to be angry? It was something—about—about being a dishonest person. Ah, she remembered all about it now, and with a sharp little cry, she started up, fully conscious at last.
“I stole Barbara’s ticket to fairy-land,” she wailed. “Percy said I was a dishonest person. I didn’t mean to be dishonest; I didn’t—I didn’t!”
“Hush, Gretel darling, lie still; everything is all right. There, there, don’t cry; see, Percy and I are here; we have come to take care of our little girl.”
“Did you get my letter, Barbara?” whispered Gretel, as she nestled in her sister’s arms, and gazed lovingly into the sweet face bending over her.