ut to the long way around by which Gerald had gone to
Deer-Copse. He didn't know that when he lifted Saint Augustine in his
arms and started forward. The child was small and thin, else Gerald
would have had to pause oftener than he did for rest; but even so it
was a severe task he had set himself.

But somehow the burden in his arms seemed to lift the burden from his
heart, as is always the case when one unselfishly helps another.
Also, he feared that the illness of Saint Augustine was the result of
his own; so that when Elsa once limped up to where he had paused to
rest and asked:

"What do you suppose it is that ails him?" he had promptly answered:

"Measles. Caught 'em from me. Ain't that the limit?"

But Elsa who knew no slang understood him literally, and said:

"No, it isn't, I had them once and the doctor scared my father
dreadfully, telling him that folks could have them _four times_! Think
of that! He said most people had them only once and the younger the
lighter. So I guess Saint Augustine won't be very ill. But--my heart!
Do you suppose the monkeys can catch it? Wouldn't that be awful!"

"I hope they will and die of them! Nasty little brutes! They keep my
nerves on the jump all the time, hearing them chatter and yell right
behind me so. You keep real far back, won't you? I don't know how you
can stand them; but don't--please don't let them hop on me again. I
know they're too heavy for you but I'm too nervous for words. I wish
I'd never heard of 'em, the little gibbering idiots!"

Again Elsa laughed, this time so merrily that Gerald got angry.

"I don't see anything so very funny in this predicament! Not so very
amusing! My arms ache fit to break and all a girl cares about a
fellow is to giggle at him."

And now, indeed, was the "giggle" so prolonged that its victim had to
join in it, and had Mrs. Calvert been there to hear she would have
rejoiced to see shy Elsa behaving just like any other happy girl. Yet,
after a moment, she sobered and begged:

"Don't mind my doing that, but I couldn't help it. It seems so funny
for a boy to have 'nerves' or to be afraid of monkeys. Papa has a
song:

"'The elephant now goes round and round,
The band begins to play;
The little boys under the monkeys' cage,
Had better get out of the way--the way--
Would better get out of the way!'"

Elsa had so far forgotten her self-consciousness that she sang her
quotation in a sweet, cle