Part 45 (2/2)
”Mother.” Geoffrey's voice was only a thread of sound now. ”Will Father come?”
”I have sent for him, little son. He will come if he can.”
”That's nice. Where's Norah?”
”I'm here, sweetheart.” Norah took the wasted hand in hers, holding it gently. ”Try to go to sleep.”
”Don't go away,” Geoffrey murmured. ”I'm awful sleepy.” He half turned, nestling his head into his mother's arm. Across the bed the mother's haggard eyes met Norah's. But hope had almost died from them.
”If he lives through the night there's a chance,” the doctor said to David Linton. ”But he's very weak, poor little chap. An awful pity; such a jolly kid, too. And all through two abominable families of tinkers! However, there are no fresh cases.”
”Can you do nothing more for Geoffrey?”
The doctor shook his head.
”I've done all that can be done. If his strength holds out there is a bare chance.”
”Would it be any good to get in another nurse?” Mr. Linton asked.
”I'm afraid of the mother and Norah breaking down.”
”If they do, we shall have to get some one else,” the doctor answered.
”But they wouldn't leave him; neither of them has had any sleep to speak of since the boy was taken ill. Norah is as bad as Mrs. Hunt; the nurse says that even if they are asleep they hear Geoffrey if he whispers. I'll come again after a while, Mr. Linton.”
He hurried away, and David Linton went softly into the little thatched cottage. Dusk was stealing into Geoffrey's room; the blind fluttered gently in the evening breeze. Mrs. Hunt was standing by the window looking down at the boy, who lay sleeping, one hand in that of Norah, who knelt by the bed. She smiled up at her father. Mrs. Hunt came softly across the room and drew him out into the pa.s.sage.
”He may be better if he sleeps,” she said. ”He has hardly had any real sleep since he was taken ill.”
”Poor little man!” David Linton's voice was very gentle. ”He's putting up a good fight, Mrs. Hunt.”
”Oh, he's so good!” The mother's eyes filled with tears. ”He does everything we tell him--you know he fought us a bit at first, and then we told him he was on parade and we were the officers, and he has done everything in soldier-fas.h.i.+on since. I think he even tried to take his medicine smartly--until he grew too weak. But he never sleeps more than a few moments unless he can feel one of us; it doesn't seem to matter whether it's Norah or me.”
Geoffrey stirred, and they heard Norah's low voice.
”Go to sleep, old chap; it's 'Lights Out,' you know. You mustn't wake up until Reveille.”
”Has 'Last Post' gone?” Geoffrey asked feebly.
”Oh yes. All the camp is going to sleep.”
”Is Father?”
”Yes. Now you must go to sleep with him, the whole night long.”
”Stay close,” Geoffrey whispered. His weak little fingers drew her hand against his face. Then no sound came but fitful breathing.
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