So _Sunny Baba_ must sleep, and
the Bearer has in the folds of his waist-cloth a little black fragment
of the awful sleep-compeller, and Baby is drugged into a deep uneasy
sleep of delirious, racking dreams.
Day by day Baby grows paler, day by day thinner, day by day a stranger
light burns in his bonny eyes. Weird thoughts sweep through Baby's
brain, weird questions startle Mamma out of the golden languors in
which she is steeped, weird words frighten the gentle Ayah as she
fondles her darling. The current of babble and laughter has almost
ceased to flow. Baby lies silent in the Ayah's lap staring at the
ceiling. He clasps a broken toy with wasted fingers. His Bearer comes
with some old watchword of fun; Baby smiles faintly, but makes no
response. The old man takes him tenderly in his arms and carries him
to the verandah; Baby's head falls heavily on his shoulder.
The outer world lies dimly round Baby; within, strange shadows are
flitting by. The wee body is pressing heavily upon the spirit; Baby is
becoming conscious of the burthen. He will be quiet for hours on his
little cot; he does not sleep, but he dreams.
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