The whole of that day and the next night the boys remained at "Jim's." The doctor had positively objected to Old Tilly's going on without a day's quiet.
And the little woman—the little woman would not hear of anything else but their staying! She had been out to the barn with Jim and seen the blackened corner. After that she hovered over the three boys like a hen over her chickens.
"For—to think, Jim!—it was saving our home he got hurt!" she cried.
The boys talked things over together, and Kent and Jot were for turning about and going straight home. But not so Old Tilly.
"I guess! No, sir; we'll go right ahead and have our holiday out. It's great fun cruising round like this!"
"But your hand, Old Tilly—the doctor said—"
"To keep it quiet. He didn't say to sit down in a rocking-chair and sing it to sleep. I guess if I can't ride a wheel with one hand, my name isn't Nathan Eddy!"
"It isn't'" laughed Kent. "It's Old Tilly Eddy!"
But in the middle of the night a ghost appeared suddenly over Old Tilly. The pale moonlight introduced it timidly as Jot, in his white shirt. He sat down on the bed.
"I'm going home," he announced in a whisper. "You other fellows can do as you like. Of course you can ride all right with one hand, if you're bound to. But I sha'n't ride with three hands any further from home! I'm going home! I—I feel as if I must!"