“Yes, it is.”
“I don’t want Tommy to hear. Sarah, what ails Tommy?”
Sarah was a truthful woman, but she hedged. “What do you mean, Mother?”
“I called him in here a minute ago to give him a pep’mint, and that child don’t look a mite well. Has he been complaining?”
“No, he ain’t.”
“You don’t think he’s et too much sassage?”
“I know he didn’t.” Sarah’s voice gained emphasis. She was relieved at being able to tell the truth without evasion.
“Well, all I’ve got to say is that child don’t look right this morning,” said her mother. “If I was up and about I’d put him to bed and dose him. I’m afraid he’s in for a sick spell. What’s that?”
There had been a sound of a sudden fall in the sitting-room. The grandmother sat up. “I knew it!” said she. “I’m going to get up.”
“You keep still, Mother,” said Sarah, who had turned white.