"Aw, Rosie, cheer up! She ain't going to die!" George's words were brave but his face was troubled. "I suppose, now, if she was only in the country, she'd be all right, wouldn't she?"
Rosie wiped her eyes and sighed. "Is it cool in the country, Jarge?"
Rosie stared at him out of eyes that were very sad and very serious.
"You bet it is—just as cool and nice! The grass is green and wind's always a-blowin' in the trees and you can hear the gurgle of the creek down at the bottom of the meadow. And at night you can sleep on the big upstairs porch, if you want to, and you always get a breeze up there. And you needn't be afraid of mosquitoes and flies, either, 'cause mother always has things screened in with black mosquito-netting. Oh, I tell you it's just fine in the country!"
George paused a moment, then laughed a little apologetically. "Leastways, Rosie, that's how I always think of the country now. Of course we do have sizzling weather out there just as much as we do here; but it's different, somehow. Out there you get a chance to cool off. They ain't them ever-lasting paved streets all around you, sending out heat like a furnace night and day just the same.... Do you know, I ain't felt like myself for three weeks! If I was back home now I tell you what I'd do: I'd go down to the creek and take a dip and then I'd come in and, by gosh, maybe I wouldn't sleep!"
Rosie sighed again. "Well, no use talking about the country. It's the city for ours, even if Geraldine does die."
Tears again threatened and George hastened to give the comforting assurance: "Aw, now, Rosie, it ain't that bad, I know it ain't. Besides, this weather can't keep up forever. We'll be having a thunderstorm any time now, and that'll cool things off." Then, to change the subject: "What does your mother say about Geraldine?"
"Pooh!" Rosie tossed her head in fine scorn. "I'd like to know what my mother knows about babies!"