Part 22 (2/2)

And now-I don't know how it is-but you've all been so good to me, and it makes a difference not to be all alone. Now, when I think of the fine things I may do some day, I think of how you all may be proud of me, and how-perhaps-maybe Frederickstown would be proud of-all that seems silly, doesn't it-but anyway that's the reason why I'd hate to go away now-why I'd hate to go away with any hard feeling behind me. That is, unless it simply _had_ to be. Men _have_ lived alone, and worked and done great things with no one to care whether they lived or died-and I could do it, too. But, over and above cake-baking-” he laughed, as if a little ashamed of his own seriousness, ”I've learned that-I've learned that it is a better thing not to be all alone.”

Jane made no reply, and presently Paul went on,

”I daresay I made myself pretty disagreeable at first, and I don't wonder that Carl hated me then-but I _have_ tried to be decent to him, and to make him like me. If he doesn't, it certainly isn't his fault-it can't be helped. Only, I haven't any right-I mean, if he's going to be miserable while I'm around, if I get on his nerves every minute-it isn't as if we were little kids, we'll soon be men, and two men quarrelling with each other in one family can make an awful mess of things. You were all happy together before I came.” As he said this he looked down gravely into the round, sober little face beside him. ”Don't you see, Janey?”

Janey did not answer; but a little later as they all turned into the cool shade of the woods, she dropped back until she was walking near Carl. She had too much instinctive wisdom to seem to do so deliberately, and she did not talk to him until the twins started to hunt for violets and jacks-in-the-pulpit, when she began to remind him of the places they had explored the summer before, and the grotto they had found the summer before that until he began to feel as if he were receiving the attention which was his brotherly due.

The beautiful afternoon wore on happily. For a long time they all sat talking and laughing under the trees, sorting the white and purple violets that they had picked. Once or twice Tim Sheridan thought of what Phil Blackstone and Johnny Everett and Mary and all the rest of them would say to his bucolic pleasures, and grinned at the thought of the expressions they would wear; and he wondered himself at his own enjoyment in the company of these simple young people-but he was having a better time than he had ever had in his life, and even Peterson was beginning to show some interest in his eccentric master's latest occupations.

And for a time, Carl, too, joined in the chatter, as poor little Janey, inwardly saddened by what Paul had told her so simply, tried to coax him out of his sullen humor.

When, at length they all started homeward, he even linked his arm through hers. Now, she thought, was the time to ask him what was the root of his ill-feeling against Paul, now was the time to tell him what Paul had said-she hated so for people to be unhappy for no reason, or for silly reasons.

”Carl, listen,” she began, ”I want to-” but he suddenly interrupted her.

”Look here, Jane-I don't know what's the matter with me. But I-I feel like the d.i.c.kens.”

She did not quite understand him.

”What about?” she asked.

”What about? About nothing-my head aches like all get-out, and every now and then everything gets to jiggling in front of my eyes.” She looked at him in alarm, and saw that his face was terribly pale.

”Carl! You mean you're ill? Let me-oh, what's the matter?”

”For heaven's sake, don't kick up a fuss now. No, don't tell Elise,” he said, impatiently. ”I'll get home all right. And don't scare mother to death when we get there. I guess it's the sun or something. And-don't walk so fast.”

Jane, more frightened by the look of his face, than by his words, obediently slackened her pace. The others were eight or ten yards ahead of them.

”Hurry up, Janey-we'll be late for supper,” called Elise, glancing back at them. Jane looked pleadingly at Carl.

”I _have_ to tell Elise. Please, Carl, dear, don't be foolish.”

”No, you must _not_. I tell you I won't have them all fussing over me, and talking, and asking questions!” he exclaimed, with a sudden flash of temper. ”Let 'em go ahead if they want to.”

They dropped farther and farther behind, until the others were already crossing the bridge as they were just gaining the road. But Paul, strolling along with his hands in his pockets whistling an accompaniment to his own thoughts was midway between the two divisions of the party.

Suddenly Carl declared that he had to rest until his head stopped throbbing a bit. Just then Paul happened to glance back.

”Hey! Are you going to spend the summer back there?” he shouted, cheerfully, but the next moment he seemed to guess that something was wrong, for after a little hesitation, he turned and started to walk toward them.

”We're coming,” said Jane, ”only Carl has a little headache, and he wanted to rest a minute.”

Paul looked critically at his cousin's white face. He did not waste any time in asking the well-meant questions that Carl found so objectionable, but said simply,

”I guess you'd better let me help you, Carl.”

To Jane's surprise there was no hostility in her brother's eyes.

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