"Eh?" exclaimed Pickering, whirling around in astonishment. "Oh, dear me!" and he pulled his right hand out of his pocket, and extended it to her.
"Mrs. Whitney has got hurt, and she was always sweet, and never said cross things, and oh, dear me!" cried Alexia incoherently, as he shook her hand violently.
"And I'm glad enough to have it made up," declared Pickering decidedly. "It's bad enough to have so much trouble in the world, without getting into fights with people you've known ever since you can remember."
"Trouble?" repeated Alexia wonderingly. "Oh, yes, Mrs. Whitney's accident, you mean; I know it's awful for all of us."
Pickering Dodge turned on his heel and walked off abruptly, and she ran back to her work with a final stare at him.
"I know now," she said to herself wisely, "and I've been mean enough to hurt him when he was bearing it. Oh, dear me, things are getting so mixed up!"
"Polly, you won't leave me, will you, till I get able to sit up?" cried
Mrs. Whitney one day, a week after.
"No, Aunty, indeed I won't," declared Polly, leaning over to drop a kiss on the soft hair against the pillows.
Mrs. Whitney put up her hands to draw down the young face.
"Oh, Aunty!" exclaimed Polly in dismay, "be careful; you know doctor said you mustn't raise your arms."