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“What is it? Do you want anything?” Mrs. Cloud bent down, her face close to the unwinking eyes.

“I want——” In a whisper Laura made known her need. “I want the big boy.”

Mrs. Cloud shook her head.

“Not now. You must go to sleep now. You shall see Justin tomorrow.”

“I want——”

“Justin’s having his dinner. He’s so hungry—so tired from his long ride. He had to carry you, too, you know. You don’t want to call poor Justin upstairs in the middle of his dinner, do you?”

“No. Oh, no.” Then, with concern—“Poor, tired Justin!”

She lay quiet.

But when Justin, on his way to his own night’s rest, put his head round the door to see, on Mrs. Cloud’s behalf, “if that child was all right,” he found her lying as his mother had left her, still with those wide, unwinking eyes of a watchful dog fixed upon the door.

“Hullo, old thing! Awake still? Want to say good-night?”

She nodded dumbly.

He crossed the room, and stood looking down at her.

“Comfortable?”

She nodded again.

“Sleepy?”

She shook her head.

“Oh, nonsense, you must go to sleep. Look here—you be a good girl and go to sleep and tomorrow I’ll give you a lesson on Mother’s old bicycle. Like that?”