“Why, what is the matter? What have I said?” he cried out, in bewilderment.
Lois bent over and hid her face; her back heaved with sobs.
Francis stared at her. “Why, what is the matter?” he cried again. “Have I done anything?” He hesitated. Then he put his hand on her little moist curly head. Lois' hair was not thick, but it curled softly. “Why, you poor little girl,” said he; “don't cry so;” and his voice was full of embarrassed tenderness.
Lois sobbed harder.
“Now, see here,” said Francis. “I haven't known you more than an hour, and I don't know what the matter is, and I don't know but you'll think I'm officious, but I'll do anything in the world to help you, if you'll only tell me.”
Lois shook off his hand and sat up. “It isn't anything,” said she, catching her breath, and setting her tear-stained face defiantly ahead.
“Don't you feel well?”
Lois nodded vaguely, keeping her quivering mouth firmly set. They were both silent for a moment, then Lois spoke without looking at him.
“Do you know if there's any school here that I could get?” said she.
“A school?”