The children crept quietly up the stairway which landed them at Reginald's door. Nan paused midway in the room and looked toward Regie with a puzzled frown, for the little fellow stretched out on the cot did not seem exactly like the Regie she had known, tumbling around out of doors.
Harry scarcely stirred a foot beyond the door-sill, and screwed his funny round mouth into a funnier pucker, a queer little habit to which he always resorted in moments of embarrassment.
“I'm very sorry for you, Regie,” said Nan, drawing a trifle nearer.
“It is too bad,” replied Regie. “It couldn't be helped though;” a remark which he had volunteered several times, as if anxious that no one should think that carelessness had aught to do with the accident.
“We've thought of a splendid game,” said Harry, feeling that he ought to say something.
“I guess the only game I'll play for a good while will be still pond, no moving,” said Regie, with a poor little ghost of a smile.
“Oh! no, indeed,” cried Nan, eagerly, “you're to be the principal one in this game. You're to be a little king, and we are to be your body-guard.”