In a moment Beata was out of bed, for there was no doubt now whose
voice it was. It was Rosy's. Bee was not a timid child, but the room
was very dark, and it took a little courage to feel her way among the
chairs and tables till at last she found the door, which she opened
and softly went into Rosy's room. For a moment she did not speak, for
a new idea struck her,--could Rosy be crying and talking in her sleep?
It was so very unlike her to cry or ask any one to go to her. There
was no sound as Beata opened the door; she could almost have believed
it had all been her fancy, and for a moment she felt inclined to go
back to her own bed and say nothing. But a very slight sound, a sort
of little sobbing breath that came from Rosy's bed, made her change
her mind.

"Rosy," she said, softly, "are you awake? Were you speaking to me?"

She heard a rustle. It was Rosy sitting up in bed.

"Yes," she said, "I am awake. I've been awake all night. It's dedful
to be awake all night, Bee. I've been calling and calling you. I'm so
unhappy."

"Unhappy?" said Bee, in a kind voice, going nearer the bed. "What are
you so unhappy about, Rosy?"

"I'll tell you," said Rosy, "but won't you get into my bed a little,
Bee? There is room, if we scrudge ourselves up. One night Fixie slept
with me, and you're not so very much bigger."

"I'll get in for a little," said Beata, "just while you tell me what's
the matter, and why you are so unhappy."