very quiet.

By Monday Donald, with his foot in a plaster cast, was on a side veranda
of his home with a table beside him strewn with books and papers. An
agreement had been made that his professors should call and hear his
recitations for a few days until by the aid of a crutch and a cane he
could resume his place in school. Linda went to visit him exactly as she
would have gone to see Marian in like circumstances. She succeeded in
making all of the Whiting family her very devoted friends.

One evening, after he had been hobbling about for over a week, Linda and
Peter called to spend the evening, and a very gay and enjoyable evening
it was. And yet when it was over and they had gone away together Donald
appeared worried and deeply thoughtful. When his mother came to his room
to see if the foot was unduly painful or there was anything she could do
to make him more comfortable, he looked at her belligerently.

"Mother," he said, "I don't like Peter Morrison being so much with my
girl."

Mrs. Whiting stood very still. She thought very fast. Should she
postpone it or should she let the boy take all of his hurts together?
Her heart ached for him and yet she felt that she knew what life had in
store for him concerning Linda. So she sat on the edge of the bed and
began to talk quietly, plainly, reasonably. She tried to explain nature
and human nature and what she thought the laws of probability were in
the case. Donald lay silent. He said nothing until she had finished all
she had to say, and then he announced triumphantly: "You're all wrong.
That is what would happen if Linda were a girl like any of the other
girls in her class, or like Louise. But she has promised that she would
write to me every Saturday night and she has said that she thinks more
of me than of any of the other boys."

"Donald dear," said Mrs. Whiting, "you're not 'in love' with Linda
yourself, and neither is she with you. By the time you are ready to
marry and settle down in life, Linda in all probability will be married
and be the mother of two or three babies."

"Yes, like fun she will," said Donald roughly.

"Have you asked her whether she loves you?" inquired Mrs. Whiting.

"Oh, that 'love' business," said Donald, "it makes me tired! Linda and
I never did any mushing around. We had things of some importance to talk
about and to do."

A bit of pain in Mrs. Whiting's heart eased. It was difficult to keep
her lips quiet and even.

"You haven'