"Very well, ma'am."

Susan's lips came together in a thin, white line, and Mrs. Colebrook
left the kitchen.

Keith did not eat his toast and oatmeal the next morning, though his
aunt sat on the edge of the bed, called him her poor, afflicted,
darling boy, and attempted to feed him herself with a spoon.

Keith turned his face to the wall and said he didn't want any
breakfast. Whereupon his aunt sighed, and stroked his head; and Keith
hated to have his head stroked, as Susan could have told her.

"Of course, you don't want any breakfast, you poor, sightless lamb,"
she moaned. "And I don't blame you. Oh, Keithie, Keithie, when I see
you lying there like that, with your poor useless eyes--! But you must
eat, dear, you must eat. Now, come, just a weeny, teeny mouthful to
please auntie!"

But Keith turned his face even more determinedly to the wall, and
moved his limbs under the bed clothes in a motion very much like a
kick. He would have nothing whatever to do with the "weeny, teeny
mouthfuls," not even to please auntie. And after a vain attempt to
remove his tortured head, entirely away from those gently stroking
ringers, he said he guessed he would get up and be dressed.

"Oh, Keithie, are you well enough, dear? Are you sure you are strong
enough? I'm sure you must be ill this morning. You haven't eaten a bit
of breakfast. And if anything should happen to you when you were in MY