ble sign
of his hurt he was very thankful. It raised his self-respect and brought
tears of self-pity to his eyes, that Betty should have expected him to
fight under such circumstances! So much did the sight of his wound
upset him that he only went on one leg while undressing, though it must
be confessed it was not always the same leg that did the hopping.

Presently, after he had been lying in bed for some little time and
commiserating with himself over his sad fate, the door opened and Betty,
with the wistfulness quite gone from her face, came in. And _such_ a
Betty! Her brown hair was bundled away under one of Cyril's battered
straw hats, and thankful indeed had she been that she had so little hair
to bundle. She wore one of Cyril's sailor jackets, and a pair of his
serge knickers, and few looking at her casually, would have insulted her
with the supposition that she was a mere girl.

Her face was alight with eagerness as she besought her brother to "just
_see_ if he'd know her!"

"It'll be almost dark when I get there," she said, "and he'll never
_dweam_ I'm not you."

"But what'll you do when you get there?" asked Cyril, sitting up in bed;
"perhaps a challenge _does_ mean a fight!"

"Fight him!" said Betty stoutly; "I've been wanting to ever since he
went above me."

"You can't fight," said Cyril disgustedly. "You're only a girl."

Betty's face positively flamed with eagerness.

"Can't fight!" she said. "Why Fred Jones taught me. He says I've got the
knack, but not _very_ much strength. Anyway, I fought that Barry kid the
other day, _I_ can promise you!"

"But John Brown is three times as big as Ces Barry."

"I know!" she sighed dismally. "Anyway, it's better to be beaten than
not to fight at all. And if you don't fight, they--they _might_ say you
were afraid." Her face grew scarlet as she put the horrid thought into
words.

When the door was shut, Cyril jumped out of bed to watch her go, and so
occupied was he over _her_ danger, that he forget his own hurt and did
not limp at all.

Up and down the garden paths his mother and father were walking, his
mother's arm through his father's, and a happy peaceful look on her
face. The thought ran through the boy's mind, how little grown up ones
know of the troubles of childhood. Nancy was rolling with baby on the
little lawn, singing--

"John, John, John, the grey goose is gone,
The fox is away o'er the hill, Oh!"

and he thought how good it was