“Ain’t you afraid that mean boy Peter will hurt you?” asked little James, who had listened to Larry’s recital of the discharge of the other office boy.
“No, I guess I can take care of myself,” said Larry, feeling of the muscles of his arm, which were not small for a lad of his age. “And how are you, Lucy?” the boy went on, going over to where his sister was propped up in a big chair.
“I think I’m a little better,” the girl said with a brave attempt at a smile. Yet a shadow of pain crossed her face, and Larry knew she was suffering but did not want to tell, so as to keep her mother from worrying.
“You wait,” whispered Larry. “When I get money enough I’m going to get you a big chair that you can wheel yourself around in. Then I’m going to have some big doctor cure you. You just wait, Lucy,” and he gave her hand a gentle pat.
“Thank you, Larry,” said his sister. Somehow it made the pain a little easier when her brother sympathized with her, and she resolved to be brave and say nothing at all of how she suffered.
That night, when all save Larry and his mother had gone to bed, Mrs. Dexter brought out a box of papers and began sorting them over.
“What are they, mother?” asked the boy.
“Old documents that are of no use,” said his mother. “I thought I would burn them up and get them out of the way. I need the box to keep my thread and sewing materials in.”
She began piling the papers up on the table, making two bundles; those she intended to keep and those she wanted to put in the fire.
“There’s a lot of old deeds,” she said. “I guess they might as well go, since we no longer own the property.”