beds once more, "don't you feel a little better?" His face was white
and tired, and he nestled in the pillows gratefully. It was good to be
at home. "Don't you feel a good deal better?"

"Me?" asked innocent Jot. "I feel jolly! Never felt--oh, er--I mean--
that is--"

"You're a rascal!" laughed Old Tilly, comfortably. "That's what you
mean. Think I didn't surmise a thing or two? Well, honest, I didn't,
at first. But on the way home I found out what you were up to. You
looked altogether too healthy!"

There was a moment's silence, then Jot spoke meekly. "I felt sort of
mean, but I couldn't help it, honest. And I told the truth, now, didn't
I? I was going to own up to-morrow."

He went away into the next room and crept into bed beside Kent.

"Jot! Jot, I say!" called Old Tilly, presently. "Hope you don't think
I'm mad. I don't mind. I--I like it."

There was an indistinct mumble of relief from Jot's quarter, followed by
another silence. Then again Old Tilly's contented voice crept through
the dark.

"Say, Jot, you asleep?"

"Yes, you?"

"Sound! It feels mighty good to be home, doesn't it?"