gh it the very strong
sympathy of a boy who loved the Pauper for his sorrow and hated the
Princess for causing that sorrow.

"And so," he concluded mournfully, "you see it isn't a very nice story,
after all, for it didn't end well a bit. They ought to have got married
and lived happy ever after. But they didn't."

Miss Holbrook drew in her breath a little uncertainly, and put her hand
to her throat. Her face now, instead of being red, was very white.

"But, David," she faltered, after a moment, "perhaps
he--the--Pauper--did not--not love the Princess any longer."

"Mr. Jack said that he did."

The white face went suddenly pink again.

"Then, why didn't he go to her and--and--tell her?"

David lifted his chin. With all his dignity he answered, and his words
and accent were Mr. Jack's.

"Paupers don't go to Princesses, and say 'I love you.'"

"But perhaps if they did--that is--if--" Miss Holbrook bit her lips and
did not finish her sentence. She did not, indeed, say anything more for
a long time. But she had not forgotten the story. David knew that,
because later she began to question him carefully about many little
points--points that he was very sure he had already made quite plain.
She talked about it, indeed, until he wondered if perhaps she were
going to tell it to some one else sometime. He asked her if she were;
but she only shook her head. And after that she did not question him
any more. And a little later David went home.

CHAPTER XXI

HEAVY HEARTS

For a week David had not been near the House that Jack Built, and that,
too, when Jill had been confined within doors for several days with a
cold. Jill, indeed, was inclined to be grieved at this apparent lack of
interest on the part of her favorite playfellow; but upon her return
from her first day of school, after her recovery, she met her brother
with startled eyes.

"Jack, it hasn't been David's fault at all," she cried remorsefully.
"He's sick."

"Sick!"

"Yes; awfully sick. They've had to send away for doctors and
everything."

"Why, Jill, are you sure? Where did you hear this?"

"At school to-day. Every one was talking about it."

"But what is the matter?"

"Fever--some sort. Some say it's typhoid, and some scarlet, and some
say another kind that I can't remember; but everybody says he's awfully
sick. He got it down to Glaspell's, some say,--and some say he didn't.
But, anyhow, Betty Glaspell has been sick with something, and the