"Yes, she fell from her horse about six years ago," said Rosanna. "It gave her fearful headaches."
"How do you know all this?" demanded the Colonel.
"Claire told me. She was with her mother but she promised not to tell on account of worrying you, and it didn't amount to anything."
"Good heavens!" muttered Colonel Maslin. "Go on!"
"I told the Doctor about that, and he said if you wanted to consult him, to telephone him."
Instead of answering, the Colonel took down the telephone receiver and inquired about trains to Cincinnati. Then he rose, came to Rosanna, and very solemnly kissed her on the forehead.
"I shall take the nine o'clock train for Cincinnati to see this doctor of yours, and I think it would be well if we kept our hopes to ourselves for awhile. It would not be kind to raise Claire's hopes again."
"That is what I thought," answered Rosanna. "She will just think our talk is something about vacation. Oh, Colonel, I am so sure that Doctor Branshaw will cure Mrs. Maslin! If you had seen Gwenny, you would feel just as I do, I am sure."
"Claire's mother is ill in a different way, my dear," said Colonel Maslin sadly, "but we will hope for the best. As soon as I return from Cincinnati, I will tell you just what the doctor says. I would try anything in the world—but we must go now."
Together they went out to the car, Colonel Maslin looking so thoughtful that Claire declared that she didn't see how they could either of them bear to leave her out of the secret. They drove down to the Times-Leader office with Mabel, and on the way home Claire said that Mabel was awfully excited. She had written a poem and had left a copy of it on the Editor's desk.