"'Speak for yourself, John.'"
"That isn't all. There's something—something wrong with father."
"Hallam Kaye! Now I do believe you're out of your head. I was afraid you were, you've talked and acted so queerly. I'm going for Cleena. Is your face hot? Do you ache more than usual?"
"Don't be silly. I'm as right as I ever shall be. Listen. I found it all out in the city. Father had gone to some exhibition, and mother and I were waiting for the time to go to the doctor. A gentleman called, and I never saw anybody look so frightened and ill as mother did when she received him, though I knew it wasn't about me. She hadn't hoped for anything better in that line. She called the man 'Friend Howard Corson,' and he was very courteous to her; but all of a sudden she cried out:—
"'Don't tell me that the end has come! I can't bear both sorrows in one day!' And then she looked across at me. I smiled as bravely as I could, and, Amy, I believe our mother is the very most beautiful woman in this world."
"Why, of course; and father's the handsomest man."
"Certainly," agreed the lad, with rather more haste than conviction.
"Well, what next?"
Before the answer could be given, there burst upon their ears an uproarious clamor of angry voices, such as neither had ever heard at Fairacres; and Amy sprang up in wild alarm, while Hallam groped blindly for the crutches he had tossed aside.