“Get behind him, quietly, Malcolm,” whispered Mrs. McLean again, “so that he won’t fall, but don’t speak to him now. Let him alone and perhaps he’ll come in, himself.”
They watched silently as Ronald came toward them, went back again and then, with arms outstretched, seemed trying to climb the tower, still with fast-closed eyes. Half-clothed and shivering in the night air, they watched him make this attempt three times and then pass them by, totally unconscious of their presence, slip in through the little door, and make his way downstairs to bed.
The boy did not waken even when his mother wrapped the blankets more closely about him, but slept on sweetly while the watchers hung above his bed.
“Has he ever walked in his sleep before, Lesley?” asked Malcolm, anxiously.
“No, Father, no; I never saw such a thing. He always talks in his sleep a lot, you know, but he doesn’t get up.”
“It’s likely he won’t remember anything about this in the morning, Lesley, and we’ll tell him when he comes downstairs,” said Mother. “I’ll fasten his door now and then we’ll get some sleep. Thank Heaven, we found him in time!”
In the morning when his astonishing feat had been related to Ronald, he only half-believed it until the evidence of three pairs of eyes was brought forward.
“What were you trying to do, Ronnie?” asked Lesley, curiously—“trying to climb up the tower?”
“Oh, I remember!” cried the boy, “I remember now. It was a dream I had and I was climbing up a rock to reach an eagle’s nest.”
“Then, in future,” said his father, good-humoredly, “as you seem determined to climb by night as well as by day, you will please tie a string to your toe when you go to bed and hitch the other end of it to Lesley’s bedpost. Then, at least, you’ll have a companion when you start on your midnight rambles.”