e arbor. Perhaps he had taken one of the ponies and
gone for a ride. No, she remembered both Calico and Caliph had whinnied
as she went by their stalls. He might have walked down the lane. She
went clear to the ford and hunted among the trees for a short distance
up and down the bank. He was nowhere in sight. Coming back, she caught
sight of the tops of the Weeping Willows and, remembering that Sherm
sometimes went there Sundays with a book, she stole up quietly. He had
thrown himself down on the ground under the interlacing branches. No, he
was not crying--just lying perfectly still, staring up into the boughs
above him with such misery in his face, it hurt her to see him.

She hardly knew what to do. She knew Ernest generally preferred to be
let alone when things went wrong, but then Ernest had never come up
against any real trouble. She suspected that Sherm's was very real.
Chicken Little watched him for several minutes, undecided. He did not
stir. Finally, she decided she didn't care whether Sherm wanted her
round or not, she wasn't going to go off and leave him to grieve all
alone.

"Sherm," she called softly. The boy raised up on his elbow. "What do you
want?" he asked rather gruffly.

His manner didn't suggest any longing for her society, but she
persevered. "I won't bother you but just a minute, Sherm, but I'm awful
sorry--about your father--and college and everything."

Sherm did not answer or look at her. The tender note of sympathy in her
voice was imperilling his self-control. He didn't mean to play the baby,
especially before a girl. But the braver the boy was, the more Chicken
Little burned to comfort him. She stood for a moment staring at him
helplessly, the tears welling up into her own eyes. Then on a sudden
impulse she dropped down beside him, and before he could protest, began
to stroke his hair. Sherm tolerated the caressing fingers for a few
minutes, but his pride would not let him accept even this comforting. He
dabbed his eyes fiercely. "Don't, Chicken Little, don't! You're a trump
to stand by a fellow this way. I am all right--I just got to thinking
about Father--and Sue's going."

Sherm would have carried it off beautifully if he hadn't attempted a
smile, but his heart was too sore to quite manage that. The smile
vanished in a hasty gulp, and, burying his face on his arm, he had it
out.

Chicken Little's eyes were redder than Sherm's when she got up to go
back to the house. Sherm noticed