onal care. And Old
Tilly, unknown to Jot, watched him.

"Say, Jot," he said that night, when they had gone upstairs to their own
beds once more, "don't you feel a little better?" His face was white
and tired, and he nestled in the pillows gratefully. It was good to be
at home. "Don't you feel a good deal better?"

"Me?" asked innocent Jot. "I feel jolly! Never felt--oh, er--I mean--
that is--"

"You're a rascal!" laughed Old Tilly, comfortably. "That's what you
mean. Think I didn't surmise a thing or two? Well, honest, I didn't,
at first. But on the way home I found out what you were up to. You
looked altogether too healthy!"

There was a moment's silence, then Jot spoke meekly. "I felt sort of
mean, but I couldn't help it, honest. And I told the truth, now, didn't
I? I was going to own up to-morrow."

He went away into the next room and crept into bed beside Kent.

"Jot! Jot, I say!" called Old Tilly, presently. "Hope you don't think
I'm mad. I don't mind. I--I like it."

There was an indistinct mumble of relief from Jot's quarter, followed by
another silence. Then again Old Tilly's contented voice crept through
the dark.

"Say, Jot, you asleep?"

"Yes, you?"

"Sound! It feels mighty good to be home, doesn't it?"

"Prime!"

"Good-night, old chap!"

"Same here!"

Then silence, unbroken. By and by Mother Eddy stole upstairs to her
boys.

"Good boys, every one of them. God bless them!" she murmured. "Home
isn't home without them. But young things must have their holidaying.
And I guess from what they tell, they've made good use of theirs. And
it isn't everyone does that; some of them just waste it. But this one's
held something in it. I don't know just what. But every one of them
seems--well, sort o' more manly-like. I'm glad their pa let them go.
But home ain't home without boys in it. That's sure."

And she turned and went softly down the stairs.

End of Project Gutenberg's Three Young Knights, by Annie Hamilton Donnell

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