"Have you seen any of the accounts of Oliver's play, Jinny?" she asked.
"No, I haven't had time to look at the papers to-day—Harry has hurt his foot."
She spoke placidly, looking up from the nursery floor, where she knelt beside a basin of warm water at Harry's feet. "Poor little fellow, he fell on a pile of bricks," she added, "but he's such a hero he never even whimpered, did he, darling?"
"But it hurt bad," said Harry eagerly.
"Of course, it hurt dreadfully, and if he hadn't been a man he would have cried."
"Sister would have cried," exulted the hero.
"Indeed, sister would have cried. Sister is a girl," responded Virginia, smothering him with kisses over the basin of water.
But Mrs. Pendleton refused to be diverted from her purpose even by the heroism of her grandson.
"John Henry found this in a New York paper and brought it to me. He thought you ought to see it, though, of course, it may not be so serious as it sounds."
"Serious?" repeated Virginia, letting the soapy washrag fall back into the basin while she stretched out her moist and reddened hand for the paper.