We
pulled down all the shades so we could sleep, though I don't really
think we needed to, because I know that as soon as I shut my eyes I
was sound asleep.
When I woke up the room was quite dim, and Mother and Father were
standing at the door talking. Father looked awfully tired, but dear
and glad, and he wouldn't let me tell him how sorry I was about it
all. Mother said that even more surprising things had been
happening, and that if I'd slept enough for a time, I'd better come
down to supper. That was queer, too,--dressing in the twilight and
coming down to supper, instead of to breakfast.
We all talked a lot at supper, of course, and people kept asking
questions. I had to do most of the answering, because Jerry always
left out the parts about himself, and yet it was he who did all the
wonderful things. We had bottles of ginger-pop, because it was a
sort of feast, and Father got up and proposed toasts, just like a
real banquet. First he said:
"Jerry! I'm glad to have a son with a level head."
Then he said:
"Christine!" and looked at me very hard, till I wanted to turn away.
But they all drank it just the same as Jerry's, though I didn't
deserve it at all. Then Father held up his glass and said very
gently:
"Greg!" And when I tried to drink it, the ginger-pop choked me, and
Jerry banged me between the shoulders, which, of course, only made
it worse, because it wasn't that sort of choke.
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