hen
clasping his hands at the back of his head.

"You? Oh, you don't count."

"Thanks."

Theodora sprang up and whirled the chair to the gate and back again to
the steps.

"What a tease you are, Billy! Next time, if you don't behave, I'll tip
you out. You know what I mean. I get just as much fun out of this as
you do. What I want is to help on the masses."

"Rats!" Billy remarked profanely.

"Not rats at all. You don't need me; they do."

"So do I. Who takes me all over town?"

"That's selfish, Billy. They need me more than you do, then."

"No, they don't either. Who'd take me?"

"Patrick. Besides, you'll take yourself soon, and then you won't want me
any more."

There was a little involuntary note of sadness in her tone, and Billy
smiled to himself, as he shifted his position to face her.

"What's started you to talking all this flummery, Ted?" he asked
bluntly, heedless, in true boy fashion, of the vague aspirations and
aims of sweet sixteen. "I thought you had too good sense to get
sentimental."

The word stung Theodora, and she started up abruptly.

"Let's go to the shore," she said shortly.

"Aren't you too tired? I am growing fat and heavy, you know."

For a week, now, Billy had been installed at the doctor's, while his
mother had been called away by the illness of her only brother. The
arrangement suited them all, Billy and Theodora even more than the
others. The two friends never seemed to weary of the long hours they
spent together, never appeared to be at a loss for subjects of
conversation. For the most part, Hubert was with them; but there were
times, like the present, when his other friends demanded his whole
attention, and Billy and Theodora were left to each other's society.
Hope was absorbed in other interests, though she was always kind and
considerate of their guest; and, by a tacit consent, Phebe's company was
shunned rather than courted.

The winter had been good to Billy. Day by day, his strength was coming
back to him, slowly and by almost imperceptible stages, it is true; but
by looking back from month to month, they could see his steady progress.
In his better days, he could walk about the rooms now, and even this
slight advance had put fresh life into him.

"Some day, I may begin to have a little respect for myself again," he
had said to Hubert, the day after his first expedition across the
library. "I've been like a rag doll for so long that I began to think
I'd never s