And Sara caught his breath too, for there were tears in her eyes.

But instantly she veered away from personalities. "What is that scar

on your wrist?"

Sam looked down at his hands clasped about his knees, and blushed

faintly. "Oh, nothing; I was very young when that happened."

"How did it happen?" she asked absently. It was often possible to

start Sam talking and then think her own thoughts without

interruption.

"Why, I was about twelve, I believe," Sam said, "and Miss Ellen

Bailey--she used to teach school here, then she got married and went

out West;--she gave me a little gold image of Pasht, at least I

thought it was gold. It was one of those things you ladies wear on

your watch-chains, you know," "Yes?" she said indolently.

"Well, I took a tremendous fancy to it. But it seems it wasn't gold,

it was brass, and somebody told me so; I think it was Miss Ellen

herself. I was so disappointed, I didn't want to live--queer! I can

remember now just how I felt; a sort of sinking, here;" Sam laid his

hand on his breast, "So I decided to throw myself out of the window. I

did; but unfortunately--"

"You threw yourself out of the window!" she is interrupted horrified.

Sam laughed. "Oh, well, I wasn't successful: I continued to live.

Unfortunately my trousers caught on the grape trellis under the

window, and there I hung! It must have been pretty funny--though I

didn't think so at the time. First place, I tore my wrist on a nail--

that's the scar; and then father caught me and sent me to bed for

being a fool; so I didn't gain anything." His lip drooped. His feeling

for his father was a candid mixture of amusement and contempt.

"But do you always act on the spur of the moment?" she said

astonished.

Sam laughed and said he supposed so. "I am a good deal of a fool," he

added simply.

"Well," she said sighing, "it's dangerous to be like that. I know,

because I--I am a good deal of a fool myself." Then again, abruptly,

she changed the subject. "What do you think? I'm going to have some

company!"

Sam frowned. "Your brother?"

"No, oh no; not--Mr. Pryor." Then she told him that Dr. Lavendar had

asked her if she would look after a little boy for him for a few

weeks.




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