Daddy's Girl Part 22

"What are you doing there, Sibyl? Go back to bed directly."

"Please, mother, I can't sleep. I have got a sort of up-and-down and round-and-round feeling. I don't know what it is, but it's worse when I put my head on my pillow. I 'spect I'm lonesome, mother. Mother, I really, truly, am going to be sensible, and I know all about father; but may I get into your bed just at the other side. I will lie as still as a mouse; may I, mother?"

"Oh dear, how you tremble," said Mrs. Ogilvie; "how more than annoying this is! You certainly are not a sensible child at the present moment.

If you felt so strange and nervous, why didn't you ask Nurse or Miss Winstead to sleep in the room with you?"

"But, mother, that wouldn't have done me any good."

"What do you mean?"

"They wouldn't be you. I'll be quite happy if I can get into bed alongside of you, mother."

"Of course you may, child, but please don't disturb me. I am very tired, and want to sleep."

Sibyl ran round to the other side of the bed, slipped in, and lay as quiet as a mouse.

Mrs. Ogilvie curled up comfortably, arranged her pillows, and closed her eyes. She was very sleepy, but what was the matter with her? She could not lose herself in unconsciousness. Was the perfectly still little figure by her side exercising some queer power over her, drawing something not often stirred within her heart to the surface?

She turned at last and looked at the child. Sibyl was lying on her back with her eyes wide open.

"Why don't you shut your eyes and go to sleep?" asked her mother.

"I can't, on account of the round-and-roundness feeling," replied Sibyl.

"What a funny little thing you are. Here, give me your hand."

Mrs. Ogilvie stretched out her own warm hand and took one of Sibyl's.

Sibyl's little hand was cold.

"May I come quite close to you, mother?" asked Sibyl.

"Yes, darling."

The next instant she was lying in her mother's arms. Her mother clasped her close to her breast and kissed her many times.

"Oh, now that's better," said the child with a sob. It was the first attempt at a sob which had come from her lips. She nestled cosily within her mother's clasp.

"I am much better," she said; "I didn't understand, but I understand now. I got his letter."

"Must we talk about it to-night, Sibyl?" asked her mother.

"Not much; there's not much to say, is there? He said I was to be good and to obey you. I was to be good all the time. It's very hard, but I 'spect I'll do it; I 'spect Lord Jesus will help me. Mother, why has father gone to Queensland? It's such a long, long way off."

"For a most excellent reason," said Mrs. Ogilvie. "You really are showing a great deal of sense, Sibyl. I never knew you more sensible about anything. I was afraid you would cry and make scenes and be naughty, and make yourself quite ill; that would have been a most silly, affected sort of thing to do. Your father has gone away just on a visit--we will call it that. He will be back before the summer is over, and when he comes back he will bring us----"

"What?" asked the child. "What has he gone for?"

"My dear child, he has gone on most important business. He will bring us back a great deal of _money_, Sibyl. You are too young yet to understand about money."

"No, I am not," said Sibyl. "I know that when people have not much money they are sorrowful. Poor Mr. Holman is."

"Who in the world is Mr. Holman?"

"He sells the toys in the back street near our house. I am very much obliged to you, mother, for that sovereign. Mr. Holman is going to send me some dusty toys to-morrow."

"What do you mean?"

"I can't 'splain, Mr. Holman understands. But, mother, I thought we had plenty of money."

"Plenty of money," echoed Mrs. Ogilvie; "that shows what a very silly little child you are. We have nothing like enough. When your father comes back we'll be rich."

"Rich?" said Sibyl, "rich?" She did not say another word for a long time. Her mother really thought she had dropped asleep. In about half an hour, however, Sibyl spoke.

"Is it nice, being rich?" she asked.

"Of course it is."

"But what does it do?"

"Do? It does everything. It gives you all your pretty frocks."

"But I am more comfy in my common frocks."

"Well, it gives you your nice food."

"I don't care nothing about food."

"It gives you your comfortable home, your pony, and----"

"Lord Grayleigh gave me my pony."

"Child, I cannot explain. It makes all the difference between comfort and discomfort, between sorrow and happiness."

"Do you think so?" said Sibyl. "And father has gone away to give me a nice house, and pretty clothes, and all the other things between being comfy and discomfy; and you want to be rich very much, do you, mother?"

"Very much indeed; I like the good things of life."

"I'll try and understand," said Sibyl. She turned wearily on her pillow, and the next instant sleep had visited the perplexed little brain.

CHAPTER X.

"Nursie," said Sibyl, two months after the events related in the last chapter, "mother says that when my ownest father comes back again we'll be very rich."

"Um," replied nurse, with a grunt, "do she?"

"Why do you speak in that sort of voice, nursie? It's very nice to be rich. I have been having long talks with mother, and she has 'splained things. It means a great deal to be rich. I am so glad that my father is coming back a very, very rich man. I didn't understand at first. I thought to be rich just meant to have lots of money, and big, big houses, and heaps of bags of sweeties, and toys and ponies, and, oh, the kind of things that don't matter a bit. But now I know what to be rich really is."