Burns wheeled upon him.  “What’s that you say?”

The other proceeded with evident effort, laying his head back against the tree-trunk again.  “I am as grateful to you and Mrs. Burns as a man can possibly be, so grateful that I can’t put it into words—­”

“Don’t try.  Go on to something more important.”

“I have trespassed on your hospitality—­”

“Don’t use hackneyed phrases like that.  Say something original.”

—­“as long as I can be willing to do it.  I am as much improved as I can expect to be—­for a long time.  I can’t hang on, a useless invalid on your hands—­”

“Cut it, old man!  You’re not an invalid, and you’re not useless.  You’re giving me one of the most interesting studies I’ve engaged in in a long time.  I’m liable to write a book on you, when I get sufficient data.”

Leaver smiled faintly.  “Nevertheless, I can’t do it, Red.  You wouldn’t do it in my place.  Be honest—­would you?”

“Probably not.  I’d be just pig-headed fool enough to argue the case to myself precisely as you are doing.  Well, Jack, I’ve expected this hour.  It’s a pity there isn’t more faith and trust in friendship in the world.  We’re all deadly afraid of trying our friends too far, so after just about so long we strike out for ourselves.  But since it is as it is, and you’re growing restless, I’ll agree that you leave us, if you’ll stay for a while where you’ll be under my observation.  I’ve set my heart on making a complete cure in this case—­or, rather, you understand, assisting Nature to do so.  If you go off somewhere I shall lose track of you.  Suppose you stay in the village here for a while longer.  I know a splendid place for you, just round the corner.  Quiet, pleasant home, middle-aged widow and her young son—­a lady, and a sensible, cheerful one—­she’ll never bore you by talk unless you feel like it—­and then the talk will be worth while.  What do you say?  You know perfectly well that you’re not yet quite fit to shift for yourself.  Be rational, and let me manage things for you a while longer.”

Leaver stood up; in the dim light Burns could not see his face.  But he heard his voice—­one which showed tension.

“You don’t know what you’re asking, old friend.  There are reasons why I feel like getting away, entirely apart from any conditions under your control.  Yet since you ask it of me, and I owe you so much, and since—­I suppose it doesn’t really make much difference where I am—­I’ll stay for the present.”

“Good!  I’m much obliged, Jack.”

Burns got up, also, and the two strolled away together, in the pleasant summer dusk.

CHAPTER IX

A PRACTICAL ARTIST

“Here I am!  And the goods are here too.  Isn’t it a miracle?  It could never have been done if I hadn’t found a kind friend among the railroad men, who sent my things by fast freight.  Now to settle in a whirlwind of a hurry and fly back for Granny.”