My sister had been ill, so I called to see how she was doing. My ten-year-old niece answered the phone.
"Hello," she whispered.
"Hi, Honey. How's your mother doing?" I asked.
"She's sleeping," she answered, again in a whisper.
"Did she go to the doctor?" I asked.
"Yes. She got some medicine," my niece said softly.
"Well, don't wake her. Just tell her I called. What are you doing, by the way?"
Again in a soft whisper, she answered, "Practicing my trumpet."
Received from Thomas Ellsworth.
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