his steps patiently.

"I've dropped it," he announced in time.

Morry was breathing hard, too. Looking up words with other people's
fore-fingers is pretty tough.

"Now, the second story,--'rec' is the first," he explained. "You must
find 'rec-om' now, you know."

No, Jolly did not know, but he went back to the work undaunted.
"We'll tree him," he said, cheerily, "but I think I could do it
easier if I whistled"--

"Whistle," Morry said.

With more directions, more hard breathing, more wetting of lips and
tireless trailing of small, blunt finger, and then--eureka! there you
were! But eureka was not what Jolly said.

"Bully for us!" he shouted. He felt _thrilly_ with pride of conquest.
"It's easy enough finding things. What's the matter with
dictionaries!"

"Now read what it means, Jolly,--I mean, please. Don't skip."

"'Rec-om-pense: An equi-va-lent received or re-turned for anything
given, done, or suff-er-ed; comp-ens-a-tion.'"

"That all?--every speck?"

"Well, here's another one that says 'To make a-mends,' if you like
that one any better. Sounds like praying."

"Oh," sighed Morry, "how I'd like to know what equi-valent means!"
but he did not ask the other to look it up. He sank back on his
pillows and reasoned things out for himself the best way he could.
"To make amends" he felt sure meant to _make up_. To make up for
something given or suffered,--perhaps that was what a Rec-om-pense
was. For something given or suffered--like legs, maybe? Limp,
no-good-legs that wouldn't go? Could there be a Rec-om-pense for
_those?_ Could anything ever "make up"?

"Supposing you hadn't any legs, Jolly,--that would go?" he said,
aloud, with disquieting suddenness. Jolly started, but nodded
comprehendingly. He had not had any legs for a good many minutes; the
telescoping process is numbing in the extreme.

"Do you think anything could ever Rec-om-pense--make up, you know?
Especially if you suffered? Please don't speak up quick,--think,
Jolly."

"I'm a-thinkin'." Not to have 'em that would go,--not _go!_ Never
to kite after Dennis O'Toole's ice-wagon an' hang on behind,--nor see
who'd get to the corner first,--nor stand on your head an' wave 'em--

"No, sirree!" ejaculated Jolly, with unction, "nothin'."

"Would ever make up, you mean?" Morry sighed. He had known all the
time, of course what the answer would be.

"Yep,--nothin' could."

"I thought so. That's all,--I mean, thank you. Oh yes, there's one
othe