“His eyes are shut and yet he’s not asleep!”
“Zeen! Zeen!” cried Mite and she pushed him back by his forehead to make him look up. “Zeen! Zeen! It’s I: don’t you know Mite?”
“Oof!” sighed Zeen; and his head dropped down again without his eyes opening.
“He’s got the fever,” said Barbara. “Just feel how his forehead’s burning and he’s as hot as fire.”
“Haven’t you poulticed him?” asked Stanse. “He wants poultices on his feet: mustard.”
“We haven’t any mustard and it’s far to the village.”
“Then he must have a bran bath, Zalia. Stanse, put on the kettle.”
“Have you any bran, Zalia?”
“No, not ready; but there’s maize.”
“And a sieve?”