hing we could do."

"What, Peter?"

"We could marry. If you cared for me even a little it--it might not be
so bad for you."

"But I am not in love with you. I care for you, of course, but--not that
way, Peter. And I do not wish to marry."

"Not even if I wish it very much?"

"No."

"If you are thinking of my future--"

"I'm thinking for both of us. And although just now you think you care
a little for me, you do not care enough, Peter. You are lonely and I
am the only person you see much, so you think you want to marry me. You
don't really. You want to help me."

Few motives are unmixed. Poor Peter, thus accused, could not deny his
altruism.

And in the face of his poverty and the little he could offer, compared
with what she must lose, he did not urge what was the compelling motive
after all, his need of her.

"It would be a rotten match for you," he agreed. "I only thought,
perhaps--You are right, of course; you ought not to marry."

"And what about you?"

"I ought not, of course."

Harmony rose, smiling a little.

"Then that's settled. And for goodness' sake, Peter, stop proposing to
me every time things go wrong." Her voice changed, grew grave and older,
much older than Peter's. "We must not marry, either of us, Peter. Anna
is right. There might be an excuse if we were very much in love: but we
are not. And loneliness is not a reason."

"I am very lonely," said Peter wistfully.

CHAPTER XIII

Peter took the polished horns to the hospital the next morning and
approached Jimmy with his hands behind him and an atmosphere of mystery
that enshrouded him like a cloak. Jimmy, having had a good night and
having taken the morning's medicine without argument, had been allowed
up in a roller chair. It struck Peter with a pang that the boy looked
more frail day by day, more transparent.

"I have brought you," said Peter gravely, "the cod-liver oil."

"I've had it!"

"Then guess."

"Dad's letter?"

"You've just had one. Don't be a piggy."

"Animal, vegetable, or mineral?"

"Vegetable," said Peter shamelessly.

"Soft or hard!"

"Soft."

This was plainly a disappointment. A pair of horns might be vegetable;
they could hardly be soft.

"A kitten?"

"A kitten is not vegetable, James."

"I know. A bowl of gelatin from Harry!" For by this time Harmony was his
very good friend, admitted to the Jimmy club, which consisted of Nurse
Elisabet, the Dozent with the red beard, Anna and Peter, an