"Sure?" he asked, wistfully. "Hadn't I better get up now?"
"Sure as sure. An' you lay quiet, like a good boy, an' I'll make you a cup of tea. Nita, you go off an' play with Lennie Crowe: Hugh's talked long enough, I guess."
Hugh had his tea, and promptly feil asleep again: not waking until hours later. There was no one visible but Jeff, who sat on the floor in the doorway, smoking peacefully.
The confused wave of anxious memories of Nita's talk that rushed over the boy as he awoke faded as he looked at his friend. Jeff was so calm, so strong; Hugh feit that nothing could be wrong when he sat there, his face serene. He knew that Jeff would always take care of him. And there was some one else there too—the some one he could not see, only feel as a near and happy presence. He shut his eyes, that he might feel her more surely, smiling to himself. That was just the time a Mother who was an angel would come—watching, comforting, telling her son that all was well.
When he opened them again Jeff was looking at him.
"Hullo, old chap! You've been smiling in your sleep, so I guess you feel all right."
"So I am. I didn't dream it all, did I, Jeff—about Toby and everything?"
"Sure you didn't. But there's nothing whatever to worry your head over, so don't begin."
"The Boss isn't wild with me?"
"Not he. He's a bit upset about losin' the Pratts—