t away, just as soon
as you feel a cold, to have them do any good."

Henry brightened, but Rose interposed. "Why, I would love to run down
to the drug store and get the medicine," she said. "You lie down
after dinner, Uncle Henry, and I'll go."

Henry cast an agonizing glance at Horace. The young man did not
understand in the least what it meant, but he came to the rescue.

"The last time I took those pellets," he said, "Mr. Whitman got them
for me. It was one Saturday, and I was home, and felt the cold coming
on, and I lay down, just as you suggest Mr. Whitman's doing, and got
asleep, and awoke with a chill. I think that if one has a cold the
best thing is to keep exercising until you can get hold of a remedy.
I think if Mr. Whitman walks down to the drug store himself and gets
the pellets, and takes one, and keeps out in the open air afterwards,
as it is a fine day, it will be the very best thing for him."

"That is just what I think myself," said Henry, with a grateful look
at Horace.

Henry changed his coat again before leaving, on the plea that it was
better for him to wear a lighter one when walking and the heavier one
when he was in the house. He and Horace walked down the street
together. They were out of sight of the house when Henry spoke.

"Mrs. Whitman don't know it yet," said he, "but there's no reason why
you shouldn't. I 'ain't got any cold. I'll get the pellets to satisfy
her, but I 'ain't got any cold. I wanted to get out again and not
tell her, if I could help it. I didn't want a fuss. I'm going to put
it off as long as I can. Mrs. Whitman's none too strong, and when
anything goes against her she's all used up, and I must save her as
long as possible."

Horace stared at Henry with some alarm. "What on earth is it?" he
said.

"Nothing, only I have gone back to work in the shop."

Horace looked amazed. "But I thought--"

"You thought we had enough so I hadn't any need to work, and you are
right," said Henry, with a pathetic firmness. "We have got property
enough to keep us, if nothing happens, as long as we live, but I had
to go back to that infernal treadmill or die."

Horace nodded soberly. "I think I understand," said he.

"I'm glad you do."

"But Mrs. Whitman--"

"Oh, poor Sylvia will take it hard, and she won't understand. Women
don't understand a lot of things. But I can't help it. I'll keep it
from her for a day or two. She'll have to hear of it before long. You
don't think Rose