sed to eat nothing, and so many things disagreed with
you."

"Nothing disagrees with me now," replied Colin, and then seeing the
nurse looking at him curiously he suddenly remembered that perhaps he
ought not to appear too well just yet. "At least things don't so often
disagree with me. It's the fresh air."

"Perhaps it is," said the nurse, still looking at him with a mystified
expression. "But I must talk to Dr. Craven about it."

"How she stared at you!" said Mary when she went away. "As if she
thought there must be something to find out."

"I won't have her finding out things," said Colin. "No one must begin to
find out yet." When Dr. Craven came that morning he seemed puzzled,
also. He asked a number of questions, to Colin's great annoyance.

"You stay out in the garden a great deal," he suggested. "Where do you
go?"

Colin put on his favorite air of dignified indifference to opinion.

"I will not let any one know where I go," he answered. "I go to a place
I like. Every one has orders to keep out of the way. I won't be watched
and stared at. You know that!"

"You seem to be out all day but I do not think it has done you harm--I
do not think so. The nurse says that you eat much more than you have
ever done before."

"Perhaps," said Colin, prompted by a sudden inspiration, "perhaps it is
an unnatural appetite."

"I do not think so, as your food seems to agree with you," said Dr.
Craven. "You are gaining flesh rapidly and your color is better."

"Perhaps--perhaps I am bloated and feverish," said Colin, assuming a
discouraging air of gloom. "People who are not going to live are
often--different."

Dr. Craven shook his head. He was holding Colin's wrist and he pushed up
his sleeve and felt his arm.

"You are not feverish," he said thoughtfully, "and such flesh as you
have gained is healthy. If we can keep this up, my boy, we need not talk
of dying. Your father will be very happy to hear of this remarkable
improvement."

"I won't have him told!" Colin broke forth fiercely. "It will only
disappoint him if I get worse again--and I may get worse this very
night. I might have a raging fever. I feel as if I might be beginning to
have one now. I won't have letters written to my father--I won't--I
won't! You are making me angry and you know that is bad for me. I feel
hot already. I hate being written about and being talked over as much as
I hate being stared at!"

"Hush-h! my boy," Dr. Craven soothed him. "No