mother." He bore it remarkably well because of the love and anxiety in
his sturdy little heart. He would do a good deal for Old Till.

They returned by a more direct route than they had come. On the way,
they discussed their adventures. Jot counted them up on his fingers.

"Hand-organs, old churches, little old man's hay--pshaw! that wasn't an
adventure!" Jot blushed hotly, as if caught in some misdeed.

"No, skip that," Old Tilly said quietly. "That just happened. Begin
over again."

"Hand-organs, old churches (two adventures there, you know), picnics,
slow races--"

"Skip that!" cried Old Tilly.

"No, sir! Slow races, burning barns, arteries--" "Oh, I say! I'll do
the counting up myself! Besides, you left out the very first adventure,
didn't you?"

"The very first one?"

"Yes, of course--losing all our money before we started!"

"Quits!" cried Jot, laughing. He did not appear sick at all. All the
way home he watched Old Tilly with almost professional care. And Old
Tilly, unknown to Jot, watched him.

"Say, Jot," he said that night, when they had gone upstairs to their own