"Boots," she said, "you look as though your last hour had come. Are you
letting that very bad child frighten you? Drina, dear, mother doesn't
mean to be horrid, but you're too old to whine. . . . It's time for the
medicine, too--"
"Oh, mother! the nasty kind?"
"Certainly. Boots, if you'll move aside--"
"Let Boots give it to me!" exclaimed the child tragically. "It will do
no good; I'm not getting better; but if I must take it, let Boots hold
me--and the spoon!"
She sat straight up in bed with a superb gesture which would have done
credit to that classical gentleman who heroically swallowed the hemlock
cocktail. Some of the dose bespattered Boots, and when the deed was done
the child fell back and buried her head on his breast, incidentally
leaving medicinal traces on his collar.
Half an hour later she was asleep, holding fast to Boots's sleeve, and
that young gentleman sat in a chair beside her, discussing with her
pretty mother the plans made for Gladys and Gerald on their expected
arrival.
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