A few minutes later Maud entered with a platter, followed closely by her mother.
The girl came forward timidly, but when Albert turned his eyes on her and called, cheerily, "Good morning!" she flamed out in rosy color and recoiled. She had expected to see him pale, dull-eyed, and with a weak voice, but there was little to indicate invalidism in his firm greeting. She gave place to Mrs. Welsh, who prepared his breakfast. She was smitten dumb by his tone, and hardly dared look at him as he sat propped up in bed.
However, though he was feeling absurdly well, there was a good deal of bravado in his tone and manner, for he ate but little, and soon sank back on the bed.
"I feel better when my head is low," he explained, in a faint voice.
"Can't I do something?" asked the girl, her courage reviving as she perceived how ill and faint he really was.
"I guess you better write to his folks," said Mrs. Welsh.
"No, don't do that," he protested, opening his eyes; "it will only worry them, and do me no good. I'll be all right in a few days. You needn't waste your time on me; Hartley will wait on me."
"Don't mind him," said Mrs. Welsh. "I'm his mother now, and he's goin' to do just as I tell him to—aren't you, Albert?"
He dropped his eyelids in assent, and went off into a doze. It was all very pleasant to be thus waited upon. Hartley was devotion itself, and the doctor removed his bandages with the care and deliberation of a man with a moderate practice; besides, he considered Albert a personal friend.
Hartley, after the doctor had gone, said with some hesitation: