Rona, you really shouldn’t have—”
“I shan’t waken them,” Rona said quickly, and went toward the children’s bedroom.
“You’d better not,” Peggy said with a smile, and went back into the kitchen.
“Watch out for Bobby’s train,” Jon whispered as he and Rona stopped outside the children’s room. “The tracks are all over the place.” They listened at the door. Jon nodded and pushed it open gently. “Asleep, thank heavens,” he said.
Rona stepped in alone, and let her eyes become accustomed to the darkened room. Bobby lay quite still in his small bed, one pyjama-covered arm thrown above his head. Barbara, a round rosy dumpling of a child with fine fair hair pressed to her head by the warmth of sleep, lay with her feet on the pillow. The top sheet was twisted into a crumpled heap; the blanket was cast aside. A brown bear, worn with patting, stared glassily at the shadowed ceiling.
Gently, Rona moved Barbara right side up, straightened the pillow, smoothed out the sheet and blanket. Barbara stiffened, screwed up her small fat nose, and tried to rub it away with a vehement fist. Then she slumped still, her eyelids gave a last quiver, and she was deep into sleep once more. Rona placed one of the packages at the foot of the cot. It had no string around it. It could easily be opened in the morning by small fumbling fingers.
Then she moved across the room to Bobby and laid his parcel—tied in innumerable knots, for he enjoyed the mystery of opening them—between the mound of his legs and the wall. She stood looking down at him. By the faint light from the half-open door, she could see the outline of his smooth small face. His fair hair waved like Jon’s. (Barbara had straight hair, as if Nature had got mixed up in her gifts.) His eyelashes lay placidly over his pale cheeks. He looked thin and helpless, and somehow very touching.
One eye opened and looked at her gravely.
“I’m asleep,” he whispered.
“So I see.”
He whipped out a gun with the hand that had been hidden under the blanket. “I’m on guard,” he whispered loudly, opening his other eye. He lowered the gun. “But you’re all right.”
“Who were you expecting?”
“Underslung Dick has been raising a lot of trouble around here.”
“What, again?” Underslung Dick had been one of Rona’s inventions which everyone was now beginning to regret, everyone except Bobby.
He nodded. “But I guess he’s gone to sleep now.” He relaxed, stifled a large yawn. “And what did you bring me?”
Rona giggled. “You know you aren’t supposed to ask that question.”
“Only in front of Mummy! What is it? Can I see?”
“Sh-h! Your voice is getting louder.” Rona picked up the package. “Shall I open it? It’s too dark in here to see the knots.”
“What kind are they this time?”
“Mostly granny knots, I’m afraid. You’ll have to teach me all over again.” She began opening the parcel.
“But I’ve shown you! Aunt Rona, you’re awful dumb.” He looked at her affectionately.
“Yes. And I don’t know what we’re going to do about it.”
He gave her a sudden smile. “Aw, you aren’t so dumb,” he said comfortingly. He reached out his hand for his present. “Oh!” He sat bolt upright. “A cow-boy belt. White. Oh I... What’s those?”
“Rubies and emeralds. Sheriffs always have rubies and emeralds on their belts.”
“Gosh! Thanks...” He buckled it round his thin waist, and slipped the gun into the holster. “Just right,” he announced and lay down again, drawing the blankets up to his chin. “Sheriff’s sleep in their belts,” he told her.
“But I think they take their guns out. Might get rusty or something.”
“Oh!...” He thought over that. “Perspiration?” he asked. He handed over the gun to her.
“I’ll put it under the pillow, but don’t touch it. Rust is very bad for a gun, you know.”
He nodded, his eyes closed over the image of a white belt blazing with rubies and
“I shan’t waken them,” Rona said quickly, and went toward the children’s bedroom.
“You’d better not,” Peggy said with a smile, and went back into the kitchen.
“Watch out for Bobby’s train,” Jon whispered as he and Rona stopped outside the children’s room. “The tracks are all over the place.” They listened at the door. Jon nodded and pushed it open gently. “Asleep, thank heavens,” he said.
Rona stepped in alone, and let her eyes become accustomed to the darkened room. Bobby lay quite still in his small bed, one pyjama-covered arm thrown above his head. Barbara, a round rosy dumpling of a child with fine fair hair pressed to her head by the warmth of sleep, lay with her feet on the pillow. The top sheet was twisted into a crumpled heap; the blanket was cast aside. A brown bear, worn with patting, stared glassily at the shadowed ceiling.
Gently, Rona moved Barbara right side up, straightened the pillow, smoothed out the sheet and blanket. Barbara stiffened, screwed up her small fat nose, and tried to rub it away with a vehement fist. Then she slumped still, her eyelids gave a last quiver, and she was deep into sleep once more. Rona placed one of the packages at the foot of the cot. It had no string around it. It could easily be opened in the morning by small fumbling fingers.
Then she moved across the room to Bobby and laid his parcel—tied in innumerable knots, for he enjoyed the mystery of opening them—between the mound of his legs and the wall. She stood looking down at him. By the faint light from the half-open door, she could see the outline of his smooth small face. His fair hair waved like Jon’s. (Barbara had straight hair, as if Nature had got mixed up in her gifts.) His eyelashes lay placidly over his pale cheeks. He looked thin and helpless, and somehow very touching.
One eye opened and looked at her gravely.
“I’m asleep,” he whispered.
“So I see.”
He whipped out a gun with the hand that had been hidden under the blanket. “I’m on guard,” he whispered loudly, opening his other eye. He lowered the gun. “But you’re all right.”
“Who were you expecting?”
“Underslung Dick has been raising a lot of trouble around here.”
“What, again?” Underslung Dick had been one of Rona’s inventions which everyone was now beginning to regret, everyone except Bobby.
He nodded. “But I guess he’s gone to sleep now.” He relaxed, stifled a large yawn. “And what did you bring me?”
Rona giggled. “You know you aren’t supposed to ask that question.”
“Only in front of Mummy! What is it? Can I see?”
“Sh-h! Your voice is getting louder.” Rona picked up the package. “Shall I open it? It’s too dark in here to see the knots.”
“What kind are they this time?”
“Mostly granny knots, I’m afraid. You’ll have to teach me all over again.” She began opening the parcel.
“But I’ve shown you! Aunt Rona, you’re awful dumb.” He looked at her affectionately.
“Yes. And I don’t know what we’re going to do about it.”
He gave her a sudden smile. “Aw, you aren’t so dumb,” he said comfortingly. He reached out his hand for his present. “Oh!” He sat bolt upright. “A cow-boy belt. White. Oh I... What’s those?”
“Rubies and emeralds. Sheriffs always have rubies and emeralds on their belts.”
“Gosh! Thanks...” He buckled it round his thin waist, and slipped the gun into the holster. “Just right,” he announced and lay down again, drawing the blankets up to his chin. “Sheriff’s sleep in their belts,” he told her.
“But I think they take their guns out. Might get rusty or something.”
“Oh!...” He thought over that. “Perspiration?” he asked. He handed over the gun to her.
“I’ll put it under the pillow, but don’t touch it. Rust is very bad for a gun, you know.”
He nodded, his eyes closed over the image of a white belt blazing with rubies and
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