better'n go sleepin' with your window open right here in March? 'Tisn't your fault, missy, if you don't done ketch the pneumony. Massa Joe says for you to come downstairs. Little gells what live to his house must learn not to keep table waitin', less'n they can't stay. Better get up, Miss Josephine."
She obeyed him, but shivered afresh as she did so. The next moment she was so warm she ran to the window and thrust her head out of it. Peter drew her back and closed the sash with a bang. Then he led her to the washstand and made a futile attempt to brush her tangled curls.
"Never mind, good Peter. I can do it. I'm sorry I went to sleep. Has Uncle Joe wanted me?" she interrupted.
"Reckon he has, honey. He done suffer terrible. He like to hear you sing them songs again, likely."
"Well, I will, if I'm not too tired," she answered.
The butler looked at her anxiously. Was she going to be sick? If she were, whatever
