Elsie could not tell any one how she felt, for there was no one to listen. She was not a child who had ever cried much; but do what she would, she could not help shedding some very bitter, angry tears now.
Presently Duncan lifted his heavy eyelids, and asked for some water. Elsie jumped up and began searching in the room; but there was neither basin nor jug, and such a simple thing as a drop of water was not to be had.
She told Duncan there wasn't any; but he did not seem to understand, and kept on asking for it. Elsie, in her indignant anger, beat furiously at the door to attract some one's attention, but in vain. No one came near.
It drove her almost mad to hear the child moaning and groaning, and calling out incessantly for water in a peevish, whining voice. Where was Mrs. Donaldson? and why had she left them in this cruel way, without food or even a drop of water, although she knew that Duncan was ill?
After a long time, Elsie heard some one coming up to the attic; the door opened, and the girl who had brought them upstairs put her unkempt head in at the door.
"Just to have a look at you," she said, with a broad grin upon her face, which was a very stupid-looking one, and frightfully begrimed. "I sleep up here, just next to you."
"Will you get us a little water?" Elsie cried.
"Why, yes!" said the girl, good-naturedly. "There's a pitcher full out here. I'll bring it in."
She came in, bringing it with her, and then went up to the bedside, where Duncan lay tossing and moaning. "Is it for him to drink?" she asked. "I'll go fetch a mug." And she sped away, bringing back an old gallipot, which she filled, and held to the child's lips.
"But he is just bad," she said, looking at him. "Ain't he hot? He's got the fever! Is that the reason you was brought here?"