"I know. I haven't thought you were careless."
"I thought I'd go crazy. He's never coasted in the street. The other boy thought of it."
"It was an accident, Miss Kelly. You mustn't blame yourself."
The entreaty faded under the flush of gratitude. Miss Kelly turned and hurried back to Letty's room, her square shoes clumping solidly.
VII
Saturday afternoon. Spencer was dressed, even to his shoes. Catherine had suggested moccasins, but Spencer held out for shoes. "Then I'll be sure, Mother, that I'm really up!" The terrifying pallor had left his face. The bandages were gone, too; just the pink, wrinkled mouth-like scar spoke audibly of the past weeks.
"You'll have to part your hair in the middle, Spencer," Dr. Henrietta had told him, "until this bald spot grows out." And Spencer had retorted, promptly, "I wouldn't be that sissy!"
Catherine moved one of her red checkers, smiled a little, wondering where he had picked up that idea, and glanced away from Spencer and checker board, out of the window. The bare trees of Morningside pricked up through gray mist; the distant roofs were vague. What a horrid day! It seemed too raw and cold for Spencer's first trip outdoors. But he really was well again. Monday he could go out. It was true, Henrietta's prophecy. She was being let down with a thud. There seemed no place where she could take hold of ordinary life again.
Spencer giggled.