grows up so hard," she murmured, half in anger and half in sorrow. "Edward
and Henry never had such times. Oh, well," she sighed, "boys will be boys,
I suppose; an’ if this all results in the boy’s settlin’ down it’ll be
money well spent in the end, after all. Maybe—probably—most likely."

The days that followed were anxious days, but at last the cabman rallied
and concluded not to die, and Jack went off yachting with a light heart
and a choice collection of good advice from Mr. Stebbins and Aunt Mary.

Nothing happened to mar his holiday. He ran a borrowed steam launch on to
some rocks with rather heavy consequences to his aunt’s exchequer, and
returned from the West Indies so late that she never had a visit from him
at all that summer; but, barring these slightly unwelcome incidents, he
did remarkably well, and when he returned to college in the fall he was
regarded as having become, at last, a stable proposition.

"I wonder whether our boy’s comin’ home for Christmas?" Aunt Mary asked
her niece, Mary, as that happy period of family reunions drew near. Mary
had come up to stay with her aunt while Lucinda went away to bury a second
cousin. Mary was very different from Arethusa, having a voice that, when
raised, was something between an icicle and a steam whistle, and a
temperament so much on the order of her aunt’s that neither could abide
the other an hour longer than was absolutely necessary. But Arethusa had a
sprained ankle, so there was no help for existing circumstances.

"No, he isn’t," said Mary, who had no patience at all with her brother,
and showed it. "He’s going West with the glee club."

"With the she club!" cried poor Aunt Mary, in affright.