"I tell you, it's quite silly to
waste time; you should have begun long ago. He always said so, and he's
right."
Brigit sat down by him. "Here's Bicky," she said, "with the Master's
love for you, Tommy."
"He's gone away. Ratting with the Prince of Wales. Let's play his fiddle
before he comes back. I've got that last exercise beautifully--only my
little finger is so beastly short. If I'd been whipped when I was a kid
it might have grown--there it goes! Hi, Pincher, after him!"
The nurse rose and moistened her patient's lips with water.
"How is he, nurse?" asked Brigit shortly.
"His throat's better, miss--my lady. But he's very weak. These
active-minded little boys----"
"I know; I know," interrupted the girl hastily. "When will he know me?"
The nurse hesitated. How could she tell? The relations always _did_ ask
senseless questions. The Persian kitten, now grown to be a cat less
Persian than had been expected, came into the room, and the nurse took
it up and put it out. "He always comes; he's a perfect nuisance," she
observed. "They get so used to places, cats, don't they?"
Brigit nodded. "I'll go and change," she said. "I'll be back in a few
minutes.
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