SARA'S lip quivered. Great tears came to her eyes.
"Dead?" she quavered.
"Dead!" said Tom.
"My Evelyn Dearie dead?" she cried, her voice pierced with anguish.
In a voice of less assurance: "I am sorry, but it is so," Tom agreed.
"My child, my Evelyn Dearie!" answered Sara. "Where is she? Show her to me."
Tom indicated the library table.
"Oh, my Evelyn Dearie!" cried Sara. "My Evelyn Dearie!" She threw herself face down on the floor and burst into sobs. "Oh, Evelyn Dearie; oh, Evelyn Dearie, what made me leave you!"
It was a disconcerting moment. Tom felt like a murderer.
"Well," he said apologetically to Alice, "I couldn't have her on the library table forever, could I? The library table is no place for an invisible child to be sick with measles. Something had to be done."
"Something's got to be done now," said Alice. "Look at Sara. She's going to break a blood vessel."
"Sara," said Tom. "Sara dear." But from Sara came only the long shuddering, "Oo-oo" of a mother mourning her dead child. "Sara, we'll have to do something about Evelyn; we'll have to take her off the table," said Tom. Sara kept on sobbing. "When people are dead you have to bury them," Tom told her.
