Susie went back to the window-sill, and huddled up close to Tom. With
blank eyes she looked at the stars and the moon bursting from behind
hurrying clouds. Even when she put her fingers into her ears that rasping
cough pursued her. Tom's heavy head fell against her, and she knew he
ought to be in bed; but it wanted really desperate courage to shake him
into consciousness and get him up somehow to his room.

And upstairs, next to Tom's little bed, was an empty space, from which a
crib had been hastily wheeled into the next room. On the floor beside it
lay a vest and knickerbockers, still heavy with sea water, and a red tin
pail and spade. It made Susie sick to look at them. But she got Tom at
last into his bed, and covered him up. He tried to say his prayers, but
he was too sleepy; and Susie hushed him at last, and crept away to her
own little room in the dark.

Amy was so soundly asleep that she did not even turn; but Susie could not
rest. All through the miserable hours she sat straight up in bed, looking
before her with staring eyes, and listening to the uneasy movements next
door.

It was almost morning when Amy woke at last and turned her startled gaze
on Susie's face, but what she read there drove her out of her own bed and
on to Susie's. Then she stretched out two comforting little arms and held
her close.

"Don't, Susie, don't," she said breathlessly; "it wasn't your fault."

"Yes, it was," said Susie harshly.

Amy rubbed her rosy cheek against Susie's sleeve, and at the touch