ready."

"I'll bet it ain't. Pull down your shirt, an' let's see. Black and
blue? You air a little liar."

Bud slowly pulled up the sleeve of his faded blue jumper. Hand and
wrist were burnt brown by the sun, but above, the flesh was white and
soft. Just below the elbow flamed the red and purple marks left by
Jeff's fingers.

"The shoulder's a sight worse than that," said Bud sulkily. Jeff
displayed honest concern.

"Pore little Bud," said he, patting the boy's hand which lay in his
own. "It is lucky fer me Miss Sadie ain't round. I reckon she
_would_ fix me for this. And I shouldn't have a word for her, as
I was tellin' ye. She'd think me the biggest kind of a mug."

So speaking, he picked up the photograph and half slipped it into the
case.

"Twon't do fer me to look at her," he murmured; "but if ever there was
a case----"

"Eh?"

"Never mind."

"What were you going to say?"

"Somethin' very fullish."

"Say it, Jeff. I'll not give ye away to Sadie. Honest, I won't."

"I believe," said Jeff solemnly, "that I've got it where the bottle
got the cork. It's a curious sort o' feeling, not unpleasant, but kind
o' squirmy."

"What in thunder are you at?"

"It's love, Bud--love at first sight. Now, mind--yer not to give me
away. I'm in love end over end with your sister. Don't git mad! She'll
never know it."

"Are you often taken this way?"

"Never before, by Jing! That's what's so queer. Mebbee I pitched on my
head. Mebbee I'm delirious."

"Mebbee you always were--half-baked. Looks like it, I must say. Give
me the case."

"Any more sisters, Bud? I reckon not. The mould must ha' been broke
when Miss Sadie was born. One'll make trouble enough for we men. Is
there another, Bud?"

"No."

"There's another picture in there."

"Yes--Dad's."

Now it chanced that as Jeff drew the portrait of Bud's father from the
case the boy had turned, and so missed the amazing expression of
surprise, dismay, horror, that flitted into Jeff's honest face, and
for the moment distorted it. But when he spoke his voice was the same,
and his features were composed.

"This is your--dad?"

"Yes. I call him a peach." "It's a fine head--sure," murmured Jeff.

Bud bent over him, eager to sing the praises of his sire. But, for the
first time since man and boy had met, Jeff's face assumed a hard,
professional look. Bud eyed him interrogatively.

"Does your leg hurt any?"

"N-n-o."

"I'll fetch some more hot water, if yo