Dorothy closed her eyes. They burned so she pulled the napkin from her
forehead down over the hot lids. That eased the pain, and perhaps she
could sleep, she thought.

Watching her patient closely for a moment, Aunt Libby moved noiselessly
to the window, pulled down the shade, pushed the chair against it so the
breeze might not disturb it, left the room.

As she turned in the narrow hallway her gingham skirt brushed the
crouching form of Joe, who had been waiting at his sister's door, but
the aged lady did not know it.

Joe and Roger had been forbidden admission to their sister's room. She
was to be left entirely alone, in absolute quiet; even Major Dale, who
was assured the attack was not more than a sick headache, did not
presume to disturb his daughter, but Joe had been waiting there in the
hallway. He had an important message to deliver to his sister, one that
"would not keep."

The boy had removed his shoes and now he stole noiselessly into the
room.

"Dorothy! Dorothy!" he whispered. "Are you asleep?"

Dorothy pushed the napkin from her eyes, and raised her arm to invite
her brother's kiss.

"Poor, dear Doro!" he murmured, pressing his cheek to her hot brow. "I
am sorry for you--every one is," and he kissed her again. "But I have
to hurry. Aunt Libby may come back."