"The headaches? Oh, I used to have them sometimes at home. They're girlish things, and it doesn't seem as if boys ought to fret over them," with a touch of disdain.
"And you haven't been trying your strength leaping over five-barred gates or jumping ditches, or perhaps riding too much?"
"I had my pony, you know, but I didn't ride very much. And latterly it seemed to take away my strength. Aunt Catharine was sure it hurt me, and then I didn't ride at all. So I left it for the children and Varina. Aunt Catharine was wonderfully kind, but she isn't quite like mamma, and father is so good and strong. I'm going to get well now. I think I was homesick too, and that's babyish for a great boy. How Louis would laugh at me!"
But no one laughed. Everybody spoke hopefully, to be sure, and treated the matter lightly. Annis read to him, but he sometimes stopped her and said: "Tell me about your visit to Patty. Doesn't it seem funny to have Patty among the big people and going to the White House to dinner? Why do you suppose Jacky didn't marry Mr. Carrington? I like him so much."
Then it was the old Froissart, with the queer pictures, or the war news. The young people around came in, the boys ruddy, laughing, and sunburned. The little darkies did their funniest tricks and sang songs for young mas'r; but though he seemed a little stronger, he did not get well. It had not been altogether the hard study.
"You are quite sure you can't remember any fall down there at Williamsburg?" the doctor queried.
"Oh, I might have had little tumbles; boys often do," he said with an air of indifference. "But nothing to hurt."
He caught a look on the face of Annis, who was standing by the window idly drumming with her fingers on the sill, and frowned.
"What was that for?" The doctor intercepted the glance, and looked from one to the other.
"Please don't drum, Annis," he said gently. "Did I frown?" to the doctor.