“All right. Say, you mind you don't say a word about this to your mother or Charlotte.”
“Yes, I promise.”
“Your mother is an awful nice lady,” said Eddy, in a whisper, descending the stairs behind Anderson, “but I don't want her fussing over me as if I was a girl, 'cause I ain't.”
When the two entered the sitting-room, Charlotte started and looked at her brother.
“Eddy Carroll, what is the matter?” she cried.
“Nothing,” declared the little boy, stoutly, but he manifestly tottered.
“Why, the dear child is ill!” cried Mrs. Anderson. “Randolph, what has happened?”
“Nothing!” cried Eddy, holding on to his consciousness like a hero. “Nothing; and I ain't a dear child.”
“It is nothing, mother,” said Anderson, quickly coming to his rescue.
Charlotte was eying wisely the knee of Eddy's knickerbockers. “Eddy Carroll,” said she, with tender severity, “your knee must be paining you terribly.”