sound of the opening door. The next moment the wonder-shock had passed.
Without a word Doctor John was on his knees beside the bed, and Doctor
George, glancing up, saw that it was Clary's Father who had entered.
Then he stood up straight, and would have retreated hastily, but his
forefinger was tight in the clutch of a weak, small hand. Doctor George
was chained to the spot; he dared not move.

"She opened her eyes once, and gripped my finger like that!" he
whispered awkwardly.

The Father did not speak, nor even look away from the white, still face.
But, stretching across the bed, he laid a detaining hand on his
brother's coat-sleeve.

It was quite late in the afternoon when the two doctors came out into
the hall. The boys crept to the half-open kitchen door to listen
eagerly.

"Thank God, and thank you, George, she will live!"

It was a strained harsh voice, but it was Father's, and the boys all
pressed forward.

Then they hastily retreated, for, while the two doctors stood side by
side, Father's head was bent on Uncle George's shoulder and their hands
were clasped hard.

"They must be making it up!" whispered Oliver to his awestruck brothers.

And it was so. The breach of years was healed in a single afternoon. The
brothers were once again friends. Whatever their quarrel had been--and
neither the children of the Tile House nor the other Carews ever knew
what it was about--it fled away like a morning mist in the face of a
great peril, for death had come very close to little Clary that rainy
Saturday.

It was many weeks before she left her bed, but when her own birthday
came round Father carried her, covered with shawls, in to tea, and Clary
could not believe her blue eyes.

On the table was a huge frosted white cake, with flags flying and
"CLARE" in great letters upon it, while Mother, who had grown pounds
better lately, smiled behind the army of cups and saucers.

But wonder of wonders, round and round the table, the guests were all
Carews!

"'A motley crew' we are!" cheerfully announced Doctor George, and all
the children radiantly clapped their hands at his joke. Even the White
House baby, which had been carried to the feast, gurgled and crowed
loudly on its Mother's lap.

And when they all pressed forward with their birthday gifts and to wish
Clary many happy returns of the day, Mark, his ears as red as his hair,
whispered under his breath: "I was just awf'lly sorry, Clary! An' I'll
never, neve