Life seemed very good to them both that crisp September morning. Just
after breakfast Doctor Jack had announced, definitely, that the crushed
hand was saved, unless there should be some unlooked-for complication
"But mind you," he insisted, "I don't promise any violin-playing, and
there'll be scars, but we'll make it look as well as we can. Anyhow,
you'll not be helpless."

Allison smiled happily. "Why can't I play, if it heals up all right?"

"There may be a nerve or two that won't work just right, or a twisted
muscle, or something. However we'll keep hoping."

The heavy weight that had lain so long upon Allison's heart was slow in
lifting. At first he could not believe the good news, greatly to Doctor
Jack's disgust.

"You don't seem to care much," he remarked. "I supposed you'd turn at
least one somersault. The Colonel is more pleased than you are."

"Dear old dad," said Allison, gratefully. "I owe him everything."

"Everything?" repeated the Doctor, with lifted brows. "And where does
Jonathan Ebenezer Middlekauffer come in, to say nothing of the future
Mrs. Kent?"

Allison's face clouded for an instant. "I'll never forget what you've
done for me, but there isn't any future Mrs. Kent."

"No? Why I thought--"