“You know I don’t know how to get on with girls, mother,” he answered ruefully.  “I shall keep out of her way as much as possible, she may be sure of that.”

“I am sorry to find you so ungraciously disposed toward our guest,” said Mrs. Hamilton quietly, “for I hoped you would help me to make it pleasant for her.  Her mother died only a little more than a year ago, and now she is going to lose her father for a year, so I am afraid the poor child will be rather forlorn.”

“We shall make a pretty pair for you and father to get along with,” said Arthur half ashamed.  “I’m blue and disagreeable most of the time, and she’ll probably be ready to burst into tears at a moment’s notice.”

“There are other ways of giving way to one’s feelings that are fully as bad as tears, I think, my son,” said Mrs. Hamilton significantly.

Arthur said nothing, but his chin went down upon his hand in a way that seemed to signify that he knew what his mother meant.

Mrs. Hamilton looked at the curly head remorsefully, and longed to pet and comfort as only mothers can.  She knew, however, that Arthur must be made to see that he was spoiling his life by giving way to this great trial which had come to him.

“Well, dear boy,” she said at last, “I must go now and write to Ruth and tell her that I shall be glad to welcome her here.”

“How soon will she get here?” asked Arthur in a resigned tone.

“Her father wrote that he expects to sail on the fifteenth of October, and as he wants to have two or three days in New York before sailing that will probably bring her here about the twelfth or thirteenth.  Not quite three weeks, you see.”

“The time does seem short,” said Arthur, trying to appear politely interested.

His mother laughed.  “I’ll leave you to prepare your mind for this new infliction while I write the note and do my marketing.  Don’t forget that you are going to practice with the crutches as soon as possible; I shall be so proud of you when you can walk downstairs.”

Mrs. Hamilton a little later at her desk was just beginning the pleasant task of writing to Ruth, when the sound of the doorbell and a quick scamper of feet up the stairs made her put down her pen with a smile.  “Why, girls,” she said as a trio of bright faces appeared in the doorway.  “How does it happen that you are out of school at this hour of the day?”

“Something happened to the gas-pipes, and there was an awful smell of gas, and all sorts of workmen walking around the building, so we were sent home,” answered the tallest of the three girls.  “And we thought we’d come in and see you for a few minutes, if you weren’t busy and didn’t mind.”

“I’m almost never too busy to see you and Charlotte and Dorothy, Betty, and I’m particularly glad just now, for I want to consult you all about something.”

“How fine,” said Dorothy.  “I love to be consulted, don’t you, girls?”