Meantime, that other mother sat by her boy’s bed as anxious but with better hope, for Mrs. Minot made trouble sweet and helpful by the way in which she bore it; and her boys were learning of her how to find silver linings to the clouds that must come into the bluest skies.

Jack lay wide awake, with hot cheeks, and throbbing head, and all sorts of queer sensations in the broken leg.  The soothing potion he had taken did not affect him yet, and he tried to beguile the weary time by wondering who came and went below.  Gentle rings at the front door, and mysterious tappings at the back, had been going on all the evening; for the report of the accident had grown astonishingly in its travels, and at eight o’clock the general belief was that Jack had broken both legs, fractured his skull, and lay at the point of death, while Jill had dislocated one shoulder, and was bruised black and blue from top to toe.  Such being the case, it is no wonder that anxious playmates and neighbors haunted the doorsteps of the two houses, and that offers of help poured in.

Frank, having tied up the bell and put a notice in the lighted side-window, saying, “Go to the back door,” sat in the parlor, supported by his chum, Gus, while Ed played softly on the piano, hoping to lull Jack to sleep.  It did soothe him, for a very sweet friendship existed between the tall youth and the lad of thirteen.  Ed went with the big fellows, but always had a kind word for the smaller boys; and affectionate Jack, never ashamed to show his love, was often seen with his arm round Ed’s shoulder, as they sat together in the pleasant red parlors, where all the young people were welcome and Frank was king.

“Is the pain any easier, my darling?” asked Mrs. Minot, leaning over the pillow, where the golden head lay quiet for a moment.

“Not much.  I forget it listening to the music.  Dear old Ed is playing all my favorite tunes, and it is very nice.  I guess he feels pretty sorry about me.”

“They all do.  Frank could not talk of it.  Gus wouldn’t go home to tea, he was so anxious to do something for us.  Joe brought back the bits of your poor sled, because he didn’t like to leave them lying round for any one to carry off, he said, and you might like them to remember your fall by.”

Jack tried to laugh, but it was rather a failure, though be managed to say, cheerfully,—­

“That was good of old Joe.  I wouldn’t lend him ‘Thunderbolt’ for fear he’d hurt it.  Couldn’t have smashed it up better than I did, could he?  Don’t think I want any pieces to remind me of that fall.  I just wish you’d seen us, mother!  It must have been a splendid spill to look at, any way.”

“No, thank you; I’d rather not even try to imagine my precious boy going heels over head down that dreadful hill.  No more pranks of that sort for some time, Jacky;” and Mrs. Minot looked rather pleased on the whole to have her venturesome bird safe under her maternal wing.