rance of the egg and toast that
conquered me. That, and--"

"And one sensible, determined girl. Don't look at me as if I were a
murderess! I'm your best friend--a friend in need. And don't choke down
your food. Eat slowly. Fletcherize--chew your food, you know. I know
you're nearly famished, but you must gradually accustom yourself to a
proper diet."

He obeyed meekly. Patsy's face was calm, but her heart beat fast, with a
thrill of fear she could not repress. Acting on impulse, as she had, the
girl now began to consider that she was personally responsible for
whatever result might follow this radical treatment for dyspepsia. Had
she been positive it _was_ dyspepsia, she would never have dared
interfere with a doctor's orders; but she felt that the boy needed food
and would die unless he had it. He might die from the effect of this
unusual repast, in which case she would never forgive herself.

Meantime, the boy had cast aside all fear. He had protested, indeed, but
his protests being overruled he accepted his food and its possible
consequences with philosophic resignation and a growing satisfaction.

Patsy balked on the third slice of toast and took it away from him. She
also denied him a second cup of chocolate. He leaned back in his chair
with a sigh of content and said:

"Bless the hen that laid that egg! No dainty was ever more delicious. And
now," he added, rising, "let us go and inquire the address of a good
undertaker. I have made my will, and I'd like to be cremated--it's so
much nicer than the old-fashioned burial, don't you think?"

"I'll attend to all that, if you wish," she replied, trying to repress a
shudder as she followed him from the room. "Do you smoke?"

"I used to, but the doctor forbade it; so I gave it up entirely."

"Go over to that stand and buy a cigar. Then you may sit beside Beth and
me and smoke it."

The girl did not wholly approve of smoking and had often chided Uncle
John and her father and Arthur Weldon for indulging in the habit; but
this advice to young Jones was given in desperation, because all the men
of her family stoutly affirmed that a cigar after a meal assisted
digestion. She resumed her former seat beside Beth, and her cousin
quickly read the anxiety on her face.

"What did you do, Patricia?"

"I fed him."

"Did he really eat?"

"Like a starved cat."

"Hm-m-m," said Beth. "What next, I wonder?"

Patsy wondered, too, the cold shivers chasing one another up an