t of the
strong instinct of motherhood which belongs to such natures as
Theodora's. Moreover, there were days and days when the old pain came
back to Billy and racked him until he was too weak for the wheeled
chair, and he could only lie on the sofa and endure the passing hours as
best he might. In those days, Theodora never failed him. She learned to
know the flush of his cheeks, the glitter in his eyes, and her brisk
step grew gentle, her clear, glad voice grew low. Strange to say, it was
on those days that Billy wanted her. He seemed to gain rest from her
exuberant strength; and Hope he regarded as the pleasant companion for
his better days, when he could laugh and talk with her, and treat her
with the chivalry which her delicate prettiness appeared to him to
demand. It mattered less about Theodora, he told himself. She was only
another fellow, and she could be treated accordingly.

Hubert had made his call upon Billy and departed again, and Phebe had
freed herself by tipping over the barrel, turning herself about, and
kicking away the basket; and still Theodora sat in the Farringtons' cosy
library, beside the open fire. Billy delighted in reading aloud, and he
had been reading to her for an hour, while she sat dreamily watching the
fire. Then he dropped the book face downward on his knee, and little by
little their desultory conversation stopped. All at once, Theodora
started up.

"Oh, dear, I forgot. I told papa I'd do an errand for him, and I must
go."

Billy yawned.

"Wish I could go, too."

She looked at him suddenly.

"Why don't you?"

"As how?"

"In your chair, of course. You needn't think you can walk yet, even if
papa does say you are gaining, every day."

"Really, do you want me to go, too?"

"Of course. Shall I call Patrick to bring the chair?"

"I've my whistle, you know." He played with it irresolutely. "Are you
sure I won't be in the way?"

"What nonsense!"

She stood leaning on the mantel while Patrick made ready the chair.
Then, moved by some sudden sense of delicacy, she busied herself with
her own wraps when the man bent down and lifted his young master in his
strong arms. Since the first day of their meeting, she had never seen
Billy moved, and she was struck more keenly than at first with the
contrast between the utter limpness of his lower limbs and the bright
activity of the rest of the boy. For an instant, her heart gave a quick
thump, half of pity, half of loyalty and protec