care--"

"Of course I'm well enough," insisted the boy irritably.

"Then I'll get your clothes, dear, and help you dress, if you will be
careful not to overdo."

"I don't want any help."

"Why, Keithie, you'll HAVE to have some one help you. How do you
suppose your poor blind eyes are going to let you dress yourself all
alone, when you can't see a thing? Why, dear child, you'll have to
have help now about everything you do. Now I'll get your clothes.
Where are they, dear? In this closet?"

"I don't know. I don't want 'em. I--I've decided I don't want to get
up, after all."

"You ARE too tired, then?"

"Yes, I'm too tired." And Keith, with another spasmodic jerk under the
bedclothes, turned his face to the wall again.

"All right, dear, you shan't. That's the better way, I think myself,"
sighed his aunt. "I wouldn't have you overtax yourself for the world.
Now isn't there anything, ANYTHING I can do for you?"

And Keith said no, not a thing, not a single thing. And his face was
still to the wall.