ne up.
He looked at them with a bewildered stare, till suddenly the events of
the night rushed in upon him, and he groaned.

The rapping still persisted, and he cried: "Yes, I hear. What time is it?"

"Eight o'clock," Bessie's voice came to him through the door. "Eight
o'clock, and you 'll have to hurry if you don't want to be late for
school."

"Goodness!" He sprang out of bed precipitately, groaned with the pain
from all his stiff muscles, and collapsed slowly and carefully on a
chair. "Why did n't you call me sooner?" he growled.

"Father said to let you sleep."

Joe groaned again, in another fashion Then his history-book caught his
eye, and he groaned yet again and in still another fashion.

"All right," he called. "Go on. I 'll be down in a jiffy."

He did come down in fairly brief order; but if Bessie had watched him
descend the stairs she would have been astounded at the remarkable
caution he observed and at the twinges of pain that every now and then
contorted his face. As it was, when she came upon him in the dining-room
she uttered a frightened cry and ran over to him.

"What 's the matter, Joe?" she asked tremulously. "What has happened?"

"Nothing," he grunted, putting sugar on his porridge.

"But surely--" she began.

"Please don't bother me," he interrupted. "I 'm late, and I want to
eat my breakfast."

And just then Mrs. Bronson caught Bessie's eye, and that young lady,
still mystified, made haste to withdraw herself.

Joe was thankful to his mother for that, and thankful that she refrained
from remarking upon his appearance. Father had told her; that was one
thing sure. He could trust her not to worry him; it was never her way.

And, meditating in this way, he hurried through with his solitary
breakfast, vaguely conscious in an uncomfortable way that his mother
was fluttering anxiously about him. Tender as she always was, he noticed
that she kissed him with unusual tenderness as he started out with his
books swinging at the end of a strap; and he also noticed, as he turned
the corner, that she was still looking after him through the window.

But of more vital importance than that, to him, was his stiffness and
soreness. As he walked along, each step was an effort and a torment.
Severely as the reflected sunlight from the cement sidewalk hurt his
bruised eye, and severely as his various wounds pained him, still more
severely did he suffer from his muscles and joints. He had never imagined