The moment Miss Royle was well away, Jane had a plan. “I think you’re gittin’ on so fine that you can hop up and dress,” she declared, noting how the gray eyes sparkled, and how pink were the round spots on Gwendolyn’s cheeks.

Gwendolyn had nothing to say.

Jane ran to the wardrobe and took out a dress.  It was a new one, of cream-white wool; and on a sleeve, as well as on the corners of the sailor collar and the tips of the broad tie, scarlet anchors were embroidered.

Gwendolyn smiled.  But it was not the anchors that charmed forth the smile.  It was a pocket, set like a shield on the blouse—­an adorable patch-pocket!

“Oh!” she cried; “did They make me that pocket?  Jane, how sweet!”

“One, two, three,” said Jane, briskly, “and we’ll have this on!  Let’s see by the clock how quick you can jump into it!”

The clock was a familiar method of inducing Gwendolyn to do hastily something she had not thought of doing at all.  She shook her head.

“Why, it’d do you good, pettie,”—­this coaxingly.

“It’s too warm to dress,” said Gwendolyn.

Jane flung the garment back into the wardrobe without troubling to hang it up, and banged the wardrobe door.  But she did not again broach the subject of getting up.  A hint of uneasiness betrayed itself in her manner.  She took a chair by the bed.

Gwendolyn’s whole face was gradually taking on a deep flush, for those flaming spots on her cheeks were spreading to throat and temples—­to her very hair.  She kept her hands in constant motion.  Next, the small tongue began to babble uninterruptedly.

It was the overlively talking that made Jane certain that Gwendolyn was ill.  She leaned to feel of the busy hands, the throbbing forehead.  Then she hastily telephoned Thomas.

“Have we any more of that quietin’ medicine?” she asked as he opened the door.

“It’s all gone.  Why?”

The two forgot their differences, and bent over Gwendolyn.

She smiled up, and nodded.  “All the clouds in the sky are filled with wind,” she declared; “like automobile tires.  Toy-balloons are, I know.  Once I put a pin in one, and the wind blew right out.  I s’pose the clouds in the South hold the south wind, and the clouds in the North hold the north wind, and the clouds—­”

“Jane,” said Thomas, “we’ve got to have a doctor.”

Gwendolyn heard.  She saw Jane spring to the telephone.  The next instant, with a piercing scream that sent her canary fluttering to the top of its cage, she flung herself sidewise.

“Jane!  Oh, don’t!  Jane!  He’ll kill me! Jane!”

Jane fell back, and caught Gwendolyn in her arms.  The little figure was all a-tremble, both small hands were beating the air in wild protest.

“Jane!  Oh, I’ll be good!  I’ll be good!” She hid her face against the nurse, shuddering.

“But you’re sick, lovie.  And a doctor would make you well.  There!  There!  Listen to Jane, dearie.”