She said it over and over to herself, in unutterable appeal and terror, "O Lord, please make mother well, please make her well." She prayed on, although the groaning wail never ceased.
Suddenly her mother turned and looked at her, and spoke quite naturally.

"Is that you ?" she said.
"Yes, mother.

I'm so sorry you are sick.

Father has gone for the doctor." "You haven't got on enough," said her mother, still in her natural voice.
"I've got on my wrapper." "That isn't enough, getting up right out of bed so.

Go and get my white crocheted shawl out of the closet and put it over your shoulders." Maria obeyed.