"Good afternoon, William," said Great-Aunt Jane, "are you enjoying your visit?"
"Well," said William vaguely, striving to temper truth with politeness, "I wun't mind going home now. I've had enough." He sat down on her bed and became confidential. "We've been here for weeks an' weeks——"
"Four days," amended Great-Aunt Jane.
"Well, four days, then," said William, "an' there's nothing left to do, an' they make a fuss if I make a noise; an' I've got a lizard in a box at home and I'm tryin' to teach it tricks, an' it'll have forgot me if I stay here much longer. It was just gettin' to know me. I could tell by its eyes. An' they might forget to feed it or anything—there's nothing to do here, an' mother's not been well since the sea made her sick, an' I keep sayin'—why wait till she's all right to go back—case the sea makes her sick again; better go back while she's feelin' bad and get it all over again without the fuss of gettin' all right an' then gettin' bad again; an' I keep sayin', why are we stoppin' here and stoppin' here an' stoppin' here—an' everyone sayin' 'Sh!' when you make a noise, or sing, or anything. I say—why?"
Great-Aunt Jane's sunken lips were quivering, her eyes twinkling.
"And why are you stoppin' an' stoppin' an' stoppin'?"
"She says 'cause you're not out of danger, and we must stop till we know which way it is. Well," he waxed still more confidential, "what I say is, shurely you know which way you're goin' to be. Can't you tell us? Then if you're goin' to get better we'll go, an' if you're not——"
"Yes, what then?" said Great-Aunt Jane.
"Then we'll go, too. You don't want me hangin' round when you're dyin'," he said coaxingly. "I'd like as not make a noise, or something, and disturb you—and that lizard might have got out if I go waitin' here much more—like wot that mouse did."
Great-Aunt Jane drew a deep breath of utter content.