“My Pollio’s very sick: he can’t stand up!”
“I think that must be a mistake, dear,” said mamma, kissing her; “for I just heard him and Teddy laughing together.”
“I didn’t know he was sick,” said Teddy.
“Well, I know it,” returned Posy with trembling lips. “He’s awful sick!”
When mamma saw that the little girl was so much in earnest, she went up stairs with her, though she did not suppose for a moment that any thing really ailed Pollio.
When she saw him half dressed, and crying helplessly, she put her arm round him, and asked if his head ached.
“No’m: head doesn’t ache.”
“Is your throat sore?”
“No’m: froat isn’t sore.”