"Well--"
"His back'll be bad to-morrow if he lies on the floor."
"The ugly man will make him go to bed, because if he doesn't they won't
have anywhere to walk," she said, determined to save his arm at any
cost.
"D'you think so?" he asked eagerly.
"Yes, quite sure. He'll be quite safe. Where's your nighty?"
He darted into Number 15 and came back with a minute bundle.
"I don't have to have nighties now. Gran said I was grown up now I was
coming to Australia. So I wear pyjamas, made out of the same stuff as
Dad's," he explained, undressing hurriedly and putting them on with
considerable pride. "Last night was the first time I wore them. Only
Daddy never looked, with those other men there."
A lump came into Marcella's throat as he neatly folded his clothes and
laid them in a heap on the floor.
"There's a pocket, look!" he said, afraid that she would miss any of the
proud points of his pyjamas. "Gran put a silver sixpence in it, for
luck, and a little letter. But I can't read yet."
He fumbled in the pocket which was just big enough for his hand. There
was the sixpence and a little handkerchief with rabbits sitting perkily
at each corner. The letter was a small text-card with a bright rosebud
painted on it.
"Read it," he said, watching her anxiously. "Granny read it to me when
she put it there.
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