She responded with a suddenness that startled him.
"Why—where am I? Oh! I know. Did I go to sleep, Uncle Joe?"
"I should judge that you did. Would you like to go to bed?"
"If you please, uncle."
He smiled faintly at the odd situation in which he found himself, playing nurse to a little girl. A boy would have been less disconcerting, for he had been a boy himself, once, and remembered his childhood. But he had never been a little girl, had never lived in a house with a little girl, and didn't know how little girls expected to be treated. He volunteered one question:
"If somebody takes you to your room, could you—could you do the rest for yourself, Josephine?"
"Why, course. I began when I was eight years old. That was my last birthday that ever was. Big Bridget was not to wait on me any more after that, mamma said. But she did. She loved it. Mamma, even, loved it,
