“Well, you’d better stay there and rest a little, dear, hadn’t you?” said the girl, “just till you feel well enough to go home.”
WILLIAM OPENED HIS EYES AND SAT UP. “BETTER,
DEAR?” SAID THE GIRL WITH RED HAIR.
“Yes,” said William speaking faintly and trying to assume the expression of one suffering from vertigo, whatever vertigo might be. He was much interested by his present position and did not want to abandon it. Moreover, he was within the building that presumably held his precious whistle and he hoped that Fate might yet deliver it into his hands. The girl with fair hair put a cushion under his head and the girl with dark hair went to fetch the motor rug and spread it over him, and Freddie held his wrist and took out his watch hoping that the action would add to his medical prestige and that no one would notice that the watch was not going. The others gazed at him in an awed silence.
“Is he—all right now?” said one of them.
“Oh yes,” said Freddie putting away his watch, “he ought to rest a little before he goes out, though.”
“Shut your eyes, dear,” said the girl with the red hair, “and try to get a little sleep before you go home. Count sheep going through a gate.” William closed his eyes obediently, forbearing to remark that he’d had quite enough of sheep going through gates.
Then they all sat down in the window alcove and began to talk.
“It’s really quite a jolly place, isn’t it?” said the girl with the dark hair. “Awfully decent of Uncle Charles to say we could come out here to picnic whenever we like.”
“Only while he’s away,” said the girl with fair hair.