"Yes."

"And it hurts?"

"Yes."

"Much?"

"Some--yes, a good deal."

"All the time?"

He nodded.

"And I didn't know it, and you wanted to see me, and I never came near
you." All at once, Theodora's head went down on her hands. "What did you
think, Billy?"

"I thought you'd got sick of me," he answered frankly. "I couldn't see
any other reason you should go back on me just now. I did miss you like
fury, Ted."

"Why didn't you send word to me?"

He looked up at her with an odd little smile.

"Wait till you are flat on your back and no special good, and you'll
know why."

His smile hurt her. She laid her hand on his again.

"Did you think that, Billy, really and truly?"

"Yes; that is, sometimes, but I don't now. You've stuck to me pretty
well, Teddy."

"Do you know what was the reason I didn't come?" she asked impulsively.

"No."

"It was this." She pulled off her hat and sat before him, a strange,
forlorn-looking Teddy, with her cropped head and tear-stained eyes.

"Jove!"

"Yes, I did it," she confessed bluntly. "I was mad at Hope and cut it
off."

The boy lay staring at her in surprise. She drooped her head, unable to
meet the amused look in his eyes.

"It's awful; isn't it?" she asked.

"Why, no; I don't think it is so bad," he said consolingly. "It isn't
exactly pretty, and you look a good deal like a boy. When I get used to
it, though, I think I shall rather like it. It seems to suit you,
somehow."

She looked up gratefully.

"What a dear old fellow you are, Billy! That was the reason I didn't
come. I couldn't bear to have you see me, or to know about it. Now I
don't mind anybody else. I hated to have you know I was so horrid."

"You are peppery, Teddy, for a fact. Don't get in a tantrum again, or
you will cut off your nose next, and that won't grow again." He tried
to laugh; but his color was coming and going, and Theodora saw that he
was suffering.

She sprang up and stooped to arrange the cushions about him.

"What is it?" she asked, startled at his changing color.

"It's the old pain. It won't last but a minute."

"What does papa say?" she asked, when he was easier again.

"Nothing, except that it's a strain and that I must keep quiet."

"How long?"

"That's the worst of it." There was an utter dreariness in his tone
which Theodora had never heard before. "I didn't mean you to know; but I
was going to surprise you all by walking over to your house,
Thanksgiving m