“No coasting till some time in January.  What a fool I was to do it!  Go-bangs always are dangerous, and that’s the fun of the thing.  Oh dear!”

Jack threw his arms about and frowned darkly, but never said a word of the wilful little baggage who had led him into mischief; he was too much of a gentleman to tell on a girl, though it cost him an effort to hold his tongue, because Mamma’s good opinion was very precious to him, and he longed to explain.  She knew all about it, however, for Jill had been carried into the house reviling herself for the mishap, and even in the midst of her own anxiety for her boy, Mrs. Minot understood the state of the case without more words.  So she now set his mind at rest by saying, quietly.

“Foolish fun, as you see, dear.  Another time, stand firm and help Jill to control her headstrong will.  When you learn to yield less and she more, there will be no scrapes like this to try us all.”

“I’ll remember, mother.  I hate not to be obliging, but I guess it would have saved us lots of trouble if I’d said No in the beginning.  I tried to, but she would go.  Poor Jill!  I’ll take better care of her next time.  Is she very ill, Mamma?”

“I can tell you better to-morrow.  She does not suffer much, and we hope there is no great harm done.”

“I wish she had a nice place like this to be sick in.  It must be very poky in those little rooms,” said Jack, as his eye roved round the large chamber where he lay so cosey, warm, and pleasant, with the gay chintz curtains draping doors and windows, the rosy carpet, comfortable chairs, and a fire glowing in the grate.

“I shall see that she suffers for nothing, so don’t trouble your kind heart about her to-night, but try to sleep; that’s what you need,” answered his mother, wetting the bandage on his forehead, and putting a cool hand on the flushed cheeks.

Jack obediently closed his eyes and listened while the boys sang “The Sweet By and By,” softening their rough young voices for his sake till the music was as soft as a lullaby.  He lay so still his mother thought he was off, but presently a tear slipped out and rolled down the red cheek, wetting her hand as it passed.

“My blessed boy, what is it?” she whispered, with a touch and a tone that only mothers have.

The blue eyes opened wide, and Jack’s own sunshiny smile broke through the tears that filled them as he said with a sniff,—­

“Everybody is so good to me I can’t help making a noodle of myself.

“You are not a noodle!” cried Mamma, resenting the epithet.  “One of the sweet things about pain and sorrow is that they show us how well we are loved, how much kindness there is in the world, and how easily we can make others happy in the same way when they need help and sympathy.  Don’t forget that, little son.”

“Don’t see how I can, with you to show me how nice it is.  Kiss me good-night, and then ‘I’ll be good,’ as Jill says.”