he moon. He could see the nursery
window, too, in an angle of the house, brightly illumined by the
cheerful fire within. Dickie and David were snugly in bed now, warm and
safe, and Nurse was most likely searching everywhere for him. If they
only knew!

"If ever I get back," he said to himself, "I never _will_ try to be
brave again; it's much better to be called a coward always." He had
hardly come to this conclusion before, with a tremendous whirring noise,
something came banging up against the shut part of the window from
within the garret. Ambrose gave one wild scream, let go his hold, and
went rolling over and over quicker and quicker, down--down--down.

CHAPTER THREE.

GOBLINET.

He remembered nothing more until he woke up that night in his own little
bed with a very confused feeling that something dreadful had happened,
though he could not think what it was. There was a light in his room,
which was strange too, and presently he saw that Nurse was sitting there
with her spectacles on, nodding sleepily over a book. What could it
mean? He clasped his head with both hands, and tried to remember; but
it was startling to find that there was a wet bandage round it, and
inside it there was a dull throbbing ache, so he soon gave up trying and
lay quietly with his eyes fixed on Nurse, and the funny shadow she made
on the wall. At last she gave a most tremendous nod, which knocked off
her spectacles, and then she gathered herself up and opened her eyes
very wide. Presently she came to the bed with a glass in her hand and
leant over Ambrose to see if he was awake; he drank what she gave him
eagerly, for he was thirsty, and as he lay down again he said with an
effort:

"I think I've had a very bad dream, Nurse, and my head _does_ ache so."

"Well, you're safe and sound now, my lamb," she answered, patting his
shoulder soothingly; "just you turn round and go to sleep again."

Still puzzled Ambrose closed his eyes, and wondered vaguely for a few
minutes why Nurse called him "lamb." She had not done it since he had
the measles, so he supposed he must be ill; but he did not feel at all
equal to asking questions about anything, and was soon fast asleep
again.

But this was the beginning of many weary days and nights for poor little
Ambrose. When the doctor came the next day he looked gravely at Mrs
Hawthorn.

"The child is in a high fever," he said, "and has had, I should think,
some great nervous shock.