But had they watched closely, they would have seen how Old Tilly’s face now flushed and then grew pale, and that occasionally he brought his lips together as though striving to control himself.

But, all unmindful of what the boy was undergoing, Nancy presided merrily over the table, and kept prompting Jim to fill up the plates as they needed it, and pressed this and that upon the boys’ attention.

“I don’t feel as if I should ever want to go away again,” she cried.  “It’s so good to be at home.  I’ve been through every room in the house and taken a view of them all.”  And then she said laughingly, turning to the boys, “Not that there are so very many of ’em, but they’re all we’ve got, you know.  After breakfast we’re going out to the barn, ain’t we, Polly?” she added.

But now Kent noticed that Jot’s face had suddenly sobered; he was looking at Old Tilly anxiously; he had seen.  His hand come up from beneath the table, and he was sure that the handkerchief was spotted with red.  “I say—­Old Tilly—­” Jot got to his feet hastily.

But Old Tilly’s face was white, and he was swaying from side to side.  Old Tilly was fainting away.

CHAPTER VIII.

“I—­I’m awake now.  What’s the matter?  Who’s sick?”

Old Tilly sat up dizzily.  He had lost consciousness only for a moment, but his face seemed to be growing whiter and whiter.  Jot and Kent hovered over him anxiously.

“You got kind of faint, Old Till—­just for a minute.  You’re all right now,” Kent said.

“Of course I’m all right!—­I always was!  I don’t see what you’re making such a fuss about!” But the pale face belied his words.

Kent lifted the clumsily bandaged hand and unwound the handkerchief.  It was stained with blood.

“Oh, what have you done, Kent!  You shouldn’t have taken the bandage off!” exclaimed Jot, in fright.  “See how the blood is dripping from the cloth!”

“It’s nothing, I tell you!” growled Old Tilly.  “Wind the thing up again!  It’s only a nail tear!”

Old Tilly was swaying again, and they forced him gently back.  The little woman looked up startled.

“What is it, Jim?  How did it happen?” she quavered.

Jim’s face looked very sober.  “I guess I better fetch the doctor,” he said.  “He hurt it on a nail, he says.  I won’t stop to harness up—­Old Betty’s used to bein’ rode bareback.”

He hurried away, followed by his wife.  Jot was examining the torn wrist tenderly.  Some new, untried strength seemed to spring into the brown, boyish face.  It took on the lines of a man’s.

“It’s an artery, Kentie.  I know, because the blood leaps up so when the handkerchief is off.  It can’t have been bleeding all night.  I don’t understand.”

“It bled some last night,” said Old Tilly, “but I stopped it.  I guess I hit it someway just now against the table.  It began again worse than ever.  Cover it up, can’t you?  It’s—­all—­right!”