ooped as she
asked the question and picked up a bit of thread from the rug.

David ran at once to the window that looked toward the House that Jack
Built. From the tower the little house appeared to be smaller than
ever. It was in the shadow, too, and looked strangely alone and
forlorn. Unconsciously, as he gazed at it, David compared it with the
magnificence he had just seen. His voice choked as he answered.

"He isn't well, Lady of the Roses, and he's unhappy. He's awfully
unhappy."

Miss Holbrook's slender figure came up with a jerk.

"What do you mean, boy? How do you know he's unhappy? Has he said so?"

"No; but Mrs. Holly told me about him. He's sick; and he'd just found
his work to do out in the world when he had to stop and come home.
But--oh, quick, there he is! See?"

Instead of coming nearer Miss Holbrook fell back to the center of the
room; but her eyes were still turned toward the little house.

"Yes, I see," she murmured. The next instant she had snatched a
handkerchief from David's outstretched hand. "No--no--I wouldn't wave,"
she remonstrated hurriedly. "Come--come downstairs with me."

"But I thought--I was sure he was looking this way," asserted David,
turning reluctantly from the window. "And if he HAD seen me wave to
him, he'd have been so glad; now, wouldn't he?"

There was no answer. The Lady of the Roses did not apparently hear. She
had gone on down the stairway.

CHAPTER XV

SECRETS

David had so much to tell Jack and Jill that he went to see them the
very next day after his second visit to Sunnycrest. He carried his
violin with him. He found, however, only Jill at home. She was sitting
on the veranda steps.

There was not so much embarrassment between them this time, perhaps
because they were in the freedom of the wide out-of-doors, and David
felt more at ease. He was plainly disappointed, however, that Mr. Jack
was not there.

"But I wanted to see him! I wanted to see him 'specially," he lamented.

"You'd better stay, then. He'll be home by and by," comforted Jill.
"He's gone pot-boiling."

"Pot-boiling! What's that?"

Jill chuckled.

"Well, you see, really it's this way: he sells something to boil in
other people's pots so he can have something to boil in ours, he says.
It's stuff from the garden, you know. We raise it to sell. Poor
Jack--and he does hate it so!"

David nodded sympathetically.

"I know--and it must be awful, just hoeing and weeding all the time."