"Take care, Bobby," the nurse warned. "You mustn't move or you will hurt that bad arm." Her greeting to Peter was stern. "You may stay five minutes, and mind you don't get him excited!" She bent over the boy to loosen the bandage about his shoulder.
"You go out," said Bobby, querulously. "I want to see Peter alone."
"Yes, dear," she patted the bedclothes indulgently. "Remember, five minutes!" she added as she closed the door.
The two left alone stared at each other rather consciously for a moment. They both felt that the occasion demanded something heroic in the way of a reconciliation, but it was the natural instinct of each to fly from sentiment. The sight of Bobby's pale face and bandaged head, however, had their effect on Peter's already overwrought nerves.
"I'm a blunderin' fool!" he groaned. "I don't know why I can't never learn to attend to me own affairs. If I'd told yer father, as was me dooty, he'd never uv given ye that spotted devil of a horse."
"You aren't to blame, Pete. I guess I was hurt for more punishment 'cause I didn't take the first in the right spirit." He fumbled under his pillow and drew out the new five-bladed knife. "This is for a remembrance, and whenever you use it you will think 'it was me that cured Bobby Carter of telling lies.'"
Peter received the gift with an air of hesitation.
"I don't like to take it," he said, dubiously, "though I have a feelin' that perhaps I ought, for with five blades to choose from ye'll be cuttin' yer blamed young throat—I'd hate to be the cause of any more accidents." He balanced it thoughtfully in his palm. "But I'm thinkin," he added softly, "that the corkscrew might be doin' as much damage to me as the five blades to you."
Bobby grinned appreciatively, and held out his uninjured left hand.
"Pete," he said, "if I promise never, never to tell any more lies, will you promise never, never to use that corkscrew?"