V.

A RECOVERY AND A VISIT.

Young Andy McLean was not destined to be gathered to his forefathers
yet, however, and before Christmas he was able to sit up in bed and beg
his mother fretfully to telephone to Exmoor and ask some of the fellows
to come over.

"The doctor says you're not to see any of the boys yet, Andy," replied
his mother firmly.

"If I can't see boys, is there anything I can see?" he demanded with
extreme irritability.

Mrs. McLean smiled and a little later dispatched a note to Queen's
Cottage. That afternoon Nance came shyly into Andy's room and sat down
in a low chair beside the white iron hospital bed which had been
substituted for the big old mahogany one.

"Your mother says you are lots better, Andy," she said.

Andy gave a happy, sheepish smile and wiggled two fingers weakly, which
meant they were to shake hands.

"Mother was afraid for the fellows to come," he said, "on account of my
heart. I suppose she thinks a girl can't affect anybody's heart."

"I'm so quiet, you see," said Nance, "but I'll go if you think it's
going to hurt you."

"You wouldn't like to see me cry, would you? I boohooed like a kid this
morning because they wouldn't let me have broiled ham for breakfast. I
smelt it cooking. It would be just like having to give up broiled ham
for breakfast to have you go, Nance. Sit down again, will you, and don't
leave me until I tell you. Since I've been sick I've learned to be a
boss."

"I'm sorry I didn't let you boss me that night, Andy," remarked Nance
meekly. "I ought never to have coasted down the hill. I've wanted to
apologize ever since."

"Have you been blaming yourself?" he broke in. "It wasn't your fault at
all. It all happened because I was angry and didn't look where I was
going. I have had a lot of time to think lately, and I've decided that
there is nothing so stupid as getting mad. You always have to pay for it
somehow. Look at me: a human wreck for indulging in a fit of rage.
There's a fellow at Ex. who lost his temper in an argument over a
baseball game and walked into a door and broke his nose."

Nance laughed.

"There are other ways of curing tempers besides broken bones," she said.
"Just plain remorse is as good as a broken nose; at least I've found it
so."

"Did you have the remorse, Nance?" asked Andy, wiggling the fingers of
his good hand again.

"Yes, awfully, Andy," answered the young girl, slipping her hand into
his. "I felt just like a murd