"We don't have to settle that to-night, do we?" demanded Jeff, with
scorn. "Hasn't the poor girl got enough on her hands without having you
scowl at her for trying to do the good Samaritan act--at three o'clock
in the morning?"
Jeff next turned his attention to Celia. He went into Charlotte's room,
picked up his elder sister without saying "by your leave," and carried
her off to her own bed.
"But, Jeff, I could help Charlotte," Celia remonstrated. "The poor baby
may be sick."
"Don't believe it. She's simply scared stiff at kimonos and pajamas and
bathrobes stalking round her in a strange house. Charlotte can cool her
down if anybody can. If she can't, I'll call the doctor. Now go to
sleep. Charlotte and I will man the ship to-night, and in the morning
you can go to work making duds for the baby. It didn't have anything to
wear round it but a summer cape and Mrs. O'Neill's plaid shawl."
This artful allusion touched Celia's tender heart and set her mind at
work, as Jeff had meant it should; so putting out her light, he slipped
away to Charlotte, exulting in having so promptly fixed things for her.
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