inted to Arkwright, in
words, that she understood what he was trying to do.

"I'll come next Tuesday," promised Arkwright, with a cheerfully
unobservant air. Then Bertram came in, bringing the book of Chess
Problems, for which he had gone up-stairs.

CHAPTER XXIX. CHESS

Promptly at three o'clock Tuesday afternoon Arkwright appeared at the
Strata, and for the next hour Billy did her best to learn the names and
the moves of the pretty little ivory men. But at the end of the hour she
was almost ready to give up in despair.

"If there weren't so many kinds, and if they didn't all insist on doing
something different, it wouldn't be so bad," she sighed. "But how can
you be expected to remember which goes diagonal, and which crisscross,
and which can't go but one square, and which can skip 'way across the
board, 'specially when that little pawn-thing can go straight ahead
_two_ squares sometimes, and the next minute only one (except when
it takes things, and then it goes crooked one square) and when that
tiresome little horse tries to go all ways at once, and can jump 'round
and hurdle over _anybody's_ head, even the king's--how can you expect
folks to remember? But, then, Bertram remembers," she added, resolutely,
"so I guess I can."

Whenever possible, after that, Arkwright came on Tuesdays and Fridays,
and, in spite of her doubts, Billy did very soon begin to "remember."
Spurred by her great desire to play with Bertram and surprise him, Billy
spared no pains to learn well her lessons. Even among the baby's books
and playthings these days might be found a "Manual of Chess," for Billy
pursued her study at all hours; and some nights even her dreams were of
ruined, castles where kings and queens and bishops disported themselves,
with pawns for servants, and where a weird knight on horseback used the
castle's highest tower for a hurdle, landing always a hundred yards to
one side of where he would be expected to come down.

It was not long, of course, before Billy could play a game of chess,
after a fashion, but she knew just enough to realize that she actually
knew nothing; and she knew, too, that until she could play a really good
game, her moves would not hold Bertram's attention for one minute. Not
at present, therefore, was she willing Bertram should know what she was
attempting to do.

Billy had not yet learned what the great surgeon had said to Bertram.
She knew only that his arm was no better, and that he