"Oh, Junie dear, no . . . it's nothing wrong with the children . . . or with anybody," Susy stammered, on her knees by the bed.
In the candlelight, she saw Junie's anxious brow darken reproachfully.
"Oh, Susy, then why—? I was just dreaming we were all driving about Rome in a great big motor-car with father and mother!"
"I'm so sorry, dear. What a lovely dream! I'm a brute to have interrupted it—"
She felt the little girl's awakening scrutiny. "If there's nothing wrong with anybody, why are you crying, Susy? Is it you there's something wrong with? What has happened?"
"Am I crying?" Susy rose from her knees and sat down on the counterpane. "Yes, it is me. And I had to disturb you."
"Oh, Susy, darling, what is it?" Junie's arms were about her in a flash, and Susy grasped them in burning fingers.
"Junie, listen! I've got to go away at once—to leave you all for the whole day. I may not be back till late this evening; late to-night; I can't tell. I promised your mother I'd never leave you; but I've got to—I've got to."
Junie considered her agitated face with fully awakened eyes. "Oh, I won't tell, you know, you old brick," she said with simplicity.
Susy hugged her. "Junie, Junie, you darling! But that wasn't what I meant. Of course you may tell—you must tell. I shall write to your mother
