"There; now I guess you're in shape f'r grub—feel any like grub?—Come in," he called in answer to a knock on the door.
Mrs. Welsh entered.
"How is he?" she whispered anxiously.
"Oh, I'm all right," cried Albert. "Bring me a plate of pancakes, quick!"
Mrs. Welsh turned to Hartley with a startled expression, but Hartley's grin assured her.
"I'm glad to find you so much better," she said, going to his bedside. "I've hardly slep', I was so much worried about you."
It was very sweet to feel her fingers in his hair, as his mother would have caressed him.
"I guess I hadn't better take off the bandages till the doctor comes, if you're comfortable.—Your breakfast is ready, Mr. Hartley, and I'll bring something for Albert."
Another knock a few minutes later, and Maud entered with a platter, followed closely by her mother, who carried some tea and milk.
Maud came forward timidly, but when he turned his eyes on her and said in a cheery voice, "Good morning, Miss Welsh!" 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 this turn of affairs; she hardly dared look at him as he sat propped up in bed. The crimson trimming on his shirt-front seemed like streams of blood; his head, swathed in bandages, made her shudder. But aside from these few suggestions of wounding, there was little of the horror of the previous day left. He did not look so pale and worn as the girl herself.