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“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.”

Thomas laid an anxious hand on the yellow head. “The doctor won’t hurt you,” he declared. “He only gives bread-pills, anyhow.”

“No-o-o!” She flung herself back upon the bed, catching at the pillows as if to hide beneath them, writhing pitifully, moaning, beseeching with terrified eyes.

Jane and Thomas stared helplessly at each other, their faces guilty and frightened.

“Dearie!” cried Jane; “hush and we won’t—Oh, Thomas, I’m fairly distracted!—Pettie, we won’t have the doctor.”

Gradually Gwendolyn quieted. Then carefully, and by degrees, Jane approached the matter of medical aid in a new way.

“We’ll just telephone,” she declared, “We wont let any old doctor come here—not a bit of it. We’ll ask him to send something. Is that all right. Please, darlin’.”

Reluctantly, Gwendolyn yielded. “The medicine’ll be awful nasty,” she faltered.

To that Jane made no reply. Her every freckle was standing out clearly. Her reddish eyes bulged. She hunted a number in the telephone-directory with fumbling fingers. After which she held the receiver to her ear with a shaking hand. “Everything’s goin’ wrong,” she mourned.

Huddled into a little ball, and still as a frightened bird, Gwendolyn listened to the message.

“Hello!… Hello! Is this the Doctor speakin’?… Oh, this is Miss Gwendolyn’s nurse, sir…. Yes sir. Well, Miss Gwendolyn’s a little nervous to-day, sir. Not sick enough to call you in, sir…. But I was goin’ to ask if you couldn’t send something soothin’. She’s been cryin’ like, that’s all…. Yes, sir, and wakeful—”

“A little hysterical yesterday,” prompted Thomas, in a low voice.

“A little hysterical yesterday,” went on Jane. “…Yes, sir, by messenger…. I’ll be most careful, sir…. Thank you, sir.”

Jane and Thomas combined to make the remainder of the afternoon less dull. One by one the favorite toys came down from the second shelf. And a miniature circus took place on the rug beside the bed—a circus in which each toy played a part. Gwendolyn’s fear was charmed away. She laughed, and drank copious draughts of water—delicious bubbling water that Thomas poured from tall bottles.

Jane had her own supper beside the white-and-gold bed—coffee and a sandwich only. Gwendolyn still had no appetite, but seemed almost her usual self once more. So much so that when she asked questions, Jane was cross, and counseled immediate sleep.

“But I’m not a bit sleepy,” declared Gwendolyn. “It’ll be moonlight after while, Jane. May I look out at the Down-Town roofs?”

“You may stop your botherin’,” retorted Jane, “and make up your mind to go to sleep. You’ve give me a’ awful day. Now try just forty winks.”

“Why do you always say forty?” inquired Gwendolyn. “Couldn’t I take forty-one?”

“Hush!“

After supper came the medicine—a dark liquid. Gwendolyn eyed it anxiously. Thomas was gone. Jane opened the bottle and measured a teaspoonful into a drinking-glass.

“Do I have to take it now?” asked Gwendolyn.

“To-morrow you’ll wake up as good as new,” asserted Jane. She touched her tongue with the spoon, then smacked her lips. “Why, dearie, it’s—”

She was interrupted. From the direction of the side window there came a burst of instrumental music. With it, singing the words of a waltz from a popular opera, blended a thin, cracked voice.