The better Lucy succeeded in coughing, the harder Edith cried, and the louder barked the wondering dog.
This delighted roguish Lucy. She liked to have Edith cry over her; it made her feel very important. She wished Jimmy would cry too; but he only said coolly,—
“Hush, Lucy; you haven’t got it; you needn’t pertend.”
“I know she hasn’t got it yet,” replied Edith; “it takes a long while. But what I’m crying about is, she’s going to get it! She’s swallowed some; she swallowed it when we stood by Sadie’s house.”
It was of no use for Jimmy to say “Pooh!” This was a matter of life and death to Edith. She wanted to take Lucy home at once, and perhaps have her shut in a dark room, or at any rate put to bed.
But those errands!
“Jimmy,” said she, as they came in sight of the stores, “my eyes don’t look very red, do they?”
Truthful James had to reply,—
“Yes, they do,—red as a lobster cactus.”
“Well, I can’t help it. You stay out here with Punch and Lucy, while I go in for the silk.”