“You think I can’t cook breakfast, eh?  I want you to know I’m a fust-class cook!” said Tom, in genial protest.  “Sit down there, now, and let me-----”

“I won’t!  You’re a good soul, Tom, and I know you’ll make a husband that any sensible woman’ll be proud of, because I can see you’ve been well trained.  By the way, Tom, how’s Sue Turpin nowadays?  And when will she name the happy day?”

Tom colored up to the roots of his thin, sandy, curly hair.  So Mrs. Kenyon, too, had heard of his wooing of Susan Turpin, the miller’s daughter!  Well, why not, since it had become a pleasant topic of gossip in the countryside?  But he made no immediate reply, except a grin, and Mrs. Kenyon continued tactfully: 

“Yes, an excellent husband, Tom—–­but never a cook.  Your dear old mother told me, the last time she came over to see me, that you can no more cook than you can fly!  And she thinks you’re an angel, too!  So just you hand me that coffee-pot and that frying-pan, and trot out to the poultry house and get me some fresh eggs.”

“All right, if you say so,” assented Tom.  “I’ll feed the horse, too.  Suppose Ralph won’t be up an’ around for quite a spell yet?”

“No; I guess not,” answered Mrs. Kenyon, relapsing into a more serious mood.

“Say, Mrs. Kenyon, why don’t you ask them two Boy Scout friends of his to stay here and help him with the farm work while you’re away?” was Tom’s suggestion.

“Oh, I simply can’t go away and leave the poor boy now!”

“Nonsense!” replied Tom.  “You’ve got to go, if the doc says so.  Anyway, Ralph’ll be O.K.  And them two boys’ll be pleased to stay.  I know they will.  Take my advice and ask ’em.”

“I’ll—–­I’ll see.”

When Doctor Kane was consulted on the subject, he pronounced Tom’s suggestion a good one, provided the three boys could manage to get their meals properly.  This they vowed they could do; so Kane, considering it best to take Mrs. Kenyon to the hospital for treatment as soon as convenient, urged her to consent to the plan.  He left the farmhouse, after a delicious breakfast, taking Tom Walsh and Jack home in his car,—–­also the golden eagles, which he promised to deliver to Professor Whalen that very day.

Two days later he returned with a check for one hundred and fifty dollars, and a letter expressing the professor’s complete satisfaction at having obtained the fine specimens.  When he returned to Oakvale again, Mrs. Kenyon went with him, in his care.

The parting of mother and son was a tearful one, though Ralph, choking down the big lump in his throat, tried manfully to cheer his mother with every hope of recovery.

“It won’t be very long before you’re home again and everything’ll seem wonderful and bright and new to you, mother,” he said.  “And don’t you worry about me, for I’m getting along fine.  I can hobble around quite spry with this crutch.  And Tom and Arthur are on deck, you know.  We’ll behave ourselves and not get into any mischief, and by the time you’re home again we’ll have done all the planting.  Good-bye, good-bye!  I’ll write to you every day.”