ha'-pas'-seven, tell her not to wait for me any longer."

"How do you mean 'wait'?" Albert inquired. "You don't expect her to come
pokin' along with Sadie and me, do you? She'll keep on sittin' there at
home just the same, because she wouldn't have anything else to do, if
you don't come like she expects you to. She hasn't got any way to _stop_
waitin'!"

At this, Ramsey moaned, without affectation. "I don't expect I _can_,
Albert," he said. "I'd like to if I could, but the way it looks now,
you tell her I wouldn't be much surprised maybe I was startin' in with
typhoid fever or pretty near anything at all. You tell her I'm pretty
near as disappointed as she's goin' to be herself, and I'd come if I
could--and I _will_ come if I get a good deal better, or anything--but
the way it's gettin' to look now, I kind o' feel as if I might be
breaking out with something any minute." He moved away, concluding,
feebly: "I guess I better crawl on home, Albert, while I'm still able
to walk some. You tell her the way it looks now I'm liable to be right
sick."

And the next morning he woke to the chafings of remorse, picturing a
Milla somewhat restored in charm waiting hopefully at the gate, even
after half-past seven, and then, as time passed and the sound of the
distant horns came faintly through the darkness, going sadly to her
room--perhaps weeping there. It was a picture to wring him with shame
and pity, but was followed by another which electrified him, for out
of school he did not lack imagination. What if Albert had reported his
illness too vividly to Milla? Milla was so fond! What if, in her alarm,
she should come here to the house to inquire of his mother about him?
What if she told Mrs. Milholland they were "engaged"? The next moment