Janey did not answer; but a little later as they all turned into the cool shade of the woods, she dropped back until she was walking near Carl. She had too much instinctive wisdom to seem to do so deliberately, and she did not talk to him until the twins started to hunt for violets and jacks-in-the-pulpit, when she began to remind him of the places they had explored the summer before, and the grotto they had found the summer before that until he began to feel as if he were receiving the attention which was his brotherly due.
The beautiful afternoon wore on happily. For a long time they all sat talking and laughing under the trees, sorting the white and purple violets that they had picked. Once or twice Tim Sheridan thought of what Phil Blackstone and Johnny Everett and Mary and all the rest of them would say to his bucolic pleasures, and grinned at the thought of the expressions they would wear; and he wondered himself at his own enjoyment in the company of these simple young people—but he was having a better time than he had ever had in his life, and even Peterson was beginning to show some interest in his eccentric master’s latest occupations.
And for a time, Carl, too, joined in the chatter, as poor little Janey, inwardly saddened by what Paul had told her so simply, tried to coax him out of his sullen humor.
When, at length they all started homeward, he even linked his arm through hers. Now, she thought, was the time to ask him what was the root of his ill-feeling against Paul, now was the time to tell him what Paul had said—she hated so for people to be unhappy for no reason, or for silly reasons.
“Carl, listen,” she began, “I want to—” but he suddenly interrupted her.
“Look here, Jane—I don’t know what’s the matter with me. But I—I feel like the dickens.”
She did not quite understand him.
“What about?” she asked.
“What about? About nothing—my head aches like all get-out, and every now and then everything gets to jiggling in front of my eyes.” She looked at him in alarm, and saw that his face was terribly pale.
“Carl! You mean you’re ill? Let me—oh, what’s the matter?”