Moreover, he was crying, as
Rilla knew from experience, with a vim and energy that betokened that he
had been already whimpering softly unheard for some time and was
thoroughly exasperated. When Jims started in crying like that he made a
thorough job of it. Rilla knew that there was no use to sit still and
pretend to ignore him. He wouldn't stop; and conversation of any kind
was out of the question when such shrieks and howls were floating over
your head. Besides, she was afraid Kenneth would think she was utterly
unfeeling if she sat still and let a baby cry like that. He was not
likely acquainted with Morgan's invaluable volume.
She got up. "Jims has had a nightmare, I think. He sometimes has one and
he is always badly frightened by it. Excuse me for a moment."
Rilla flew upstairs, wishing quite frankly that soup tureens had never
been invented. But when Jims, at sight of her, lifted his little arms
entreatingly and swallowed several sobs, with tears rolling down his
cheeks, resentment went out of her heart. After all, the poor darling
was frightened. She picked him up gently and rocked him soothingly until
his sobs ceased and his eyes closed. Then she essayed to lay him down in
his crib. Jims opened his eyes and shrieked a protest. This performance
was repeated twice. Rilla grew desperate. She couldn't leave Ken down
there alone any longer--she had been away nearly half an hour already.
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