Shellington took the thin, white hand in his.
"You must not become downhearted, boy; that's not the way to get well. And you're certainly better than when you came, in spite of this little setback."
Floyd closed his eyes, and Horace saw silent tears rolling down the boy's cheeks. The young man bent over him.
"Floyd, are you worrying about your sister?"
Flukey nodded an affirmative.
"Why?"
"Because she ain't the same as she was. And she ain't happy any more, and I can't make her tell me. Have ye been ugly to her—have ye?"
Horace racked his mind for a truthful answer. Had he been unfair to Fledra?
"Floyd," he said softly, "your sister and I have had some words; but we shall soon understand each other—I know we shall!"
"What did ye say to Flea?"