Was anybody scolding you?"
"Yes, David," she said in a smothered voice.
"Were you bad?" David asked with interest.
Helena dropped her forehead on to his little warm shoulder. She could
feel his heart beating, and his breath on her neck.
"Your head's pretty heavy," said David patiently; "and hot."
At that she lifted herself up, and tried to smile; "Come, dear
precious, come up-stairs. Never mind if people scold me. I--deserve
it."
"Do you?" said David. "Why?"
He was wide awake by this time, and pleaded against bed. "Tell me why,
on the porch; I don't mind sitting on your lap out there," he bribed
her; "though you are pretty hot to sit on," he added, truthfully.
She could not resist him; to have him on her knee, his tousled head on
her breast, was an inexpressible comfort,
"When I go travelling with Dr. Lavendar," David announced drowsily, "I
am going to put my trousers into the tops of my boots, like George
does. Does God drink out of that Dipper?"
Her doubtful murmur seemed to satisfy him; he shut his eyes, nuzzling
his head into her breast, and as she leaned her cheek on his hair--
which he permitted because he was too sleepy to protest--the ache of
sobs lessened in her throat. After a while, when he was sound asleep
again, she carried him up-stairs and laid him in his bed, sitting
beside him for a while lest he should awake. Then she went down to the
porch and faced the situation.
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