billy did not lift his face from the pillow; he was striving to steady throat and voice.

“billy,” she called.

“don’t, mother! mother, don’t come in here! don’t come in the same room with me,—i’m not fit for— o mother, i’ve hurt jimmy for life!”

mrs. bennett caught the despair in his words, and knew this could be no ordinary trouble to be petted away with a few caresses. some crisis had come that must be wisely met. she entered, knelt by the bed, and put her arms around him. the spring starlight dimly outlined his head on the pillow but gave no hint of its bruises. “billy, dear, nothing you can ever do will be bad enough to keep your mother away from you. what is it, my son?”

the gentle words, the tender touch, the comfort and hope in her words, unlocked his lips and he told what he had thought to keep forever untold.

he kept his hands from hers, and begged her not to touch the handkerchief he had bound around his head; but before his story was finished, a growing stain on the pillow had oozed into sight.

“billy! you said you weren’t hurt, but you are!” alarmed, she rose and switched on the light, pulled off the bandage, and turned faint at the wreck of the bright, clean boy who had left her that afternoon. “my boy! you’re dreadfully hurt! i must send for doctor carter, and—”

“no, no! don’t, mother! i’ll run away! i’ll—” he groaned and left his sentence unfinished.

“but you may have broken bones—be seriously injured.”

she took a step, but he caught her hand. “i don’t care if i am, he mustn’t see—no one must,—i didn’t mean you should. besides, i walked home and brought my wheel; i’ll live, i guess,—i’m too mean to kill.” he put his stiff, swollen hand over his face. “it’s jimmy that’s in danger.” a new note of terror came into his voice as he remembered the pale face and limp arm; he had never seen a fighting boy look so before. “i’m afraid jimmy’s hurt inside, mother. what if he should die?”

mrs. bennett knew better than billy how much thumping a boy could live through; and reassured him while she took off his soiled garments, and started below for hot water and remedies.

“don’t tell—must edith and may nell know?” he called after her. “oh, all the town will—mother!” the anguish in his words halted her. “mother, this wasn’t a boys’ scrap at all. i didn’t think of you or—or anything; an’ something must have squelched betsey, she never peeped. mother, i felt—i felt mad enough to kill him!” he whispered the awesome words.

“but you don’t feel so now, my son. jimmy will soon be well; you, too. then you can talk with him about it. rest, now; that is your first duty,” she comforted, and left him.

hot water, lotions, a mother’s tender hands, best of all, a mother’s comprehending heart,—it is wonderful what cures these can make. in an hour billy was comparatively at ease. his sore body still ached, and his eyes “felt like red fire on the fourth,” he said; but the world seemed less dark, and he was glad his mother had not taken him at his word and left him to bear his trouble alone.

yet he could not long keep his mind from the struggle. “mother, won’t you find out soon about jimmy, how bad he’s hurt? an’ i wish i knew if vilette ’n evelyn ’re all right; it looked awful to see ’em hit with a horsewhip.”

“i’ll get word from them in the morning. don’t worry any more, but rest; sleep if you can. you can’t help them till you have helped yourself.”

still, since billy had broken his resolution of silence, he was feverishly eager to talk. his thoughts were erratic, now in the present, again flying back to the past. “o mother, you should be lickin’ me ’nstead of petting me!” he broke out passionately.

“why, billy? i don’t believe in whipping unless all else fails.”

“well, papa did. if he was alive he’d be giving it to me about now, good and plenty.”

“why do you think he would have whipped you?”

“don’t you remember the first day i went to school, he took me between his knees,—i was a little kid then,—and said, ‘billy, if i[133] know that you ever jump on a boy first to fight him, i’ll lick you. and if another boy jumps on you first, and you don’t fight back, no matter how big he is, i’ll lick you then.’”

“i guess he didn’t say ‘lick,’ billy.”

“yes, he did. and he said, awfully solemn, ‘remember, billy, no one but a coward strikes his foe in the back. a boy of mine who could do that,—i don’t think i should wish him to wear this.’ and he pointed to his loyal legion button. o mother, i hit jimmy first, i hit him in the back, and i—i kicked him in the stomach! i’ve disgraced papa’s button forever!” his last words were a groan, and he hid his face.

mrs. bennett leaned over him without speaking for a minute, but stroked his hair softly. “remember, with one there is no ‘forever.’ as long as we live we have a chance to retrieve. rest on that, my child. now you must sleep.” she kissed him and was silent, for a drop glistened on his cheek she knew he would not wish her to notice.

she thought he should be in a warmer room, but he begged so hard to stay that she yielded. she put a bell near, that he might call her, and went to him several times before she slept, finding him somewhat restless, yet too profoundly asleep to be wakened by her light touch. outraged nature was in charge now.

it must have been hours past midnight when billy’s chattering voice startled his mother. she had heard no bell; the boy himself stood by her bedside; she could see him dimly against the window.

“i don’t know what’s the matter,—i’m drowned, i guess.” his teeth rattled, and the hand he put out to her was icy cold.

“billy! you’re freezing!” she sprang up and turned on the light.

he was a queer figure with his bandaged head, one eye peering out, and a long, dripping red quilt trailing behind him. “i found the bed flooded, and put the comfort round me; but someway that’s wet, too.” he could hardly speak for shivering.

she clapped him into her own warm bed, and incredibly soon things were sizzling over the alcohol lamp.

“the tank must have run over, billy. you forgot to shut it off.”

“no, i didn’t forget; the water was low, and i left it running on purpose. but it’s that west wind; she’s a hummer. she can pump faster ’n the old waste pipe can discharge.”

friction and mustard, hot water bags without and hot tea within soon set billy’s teeth at rest.

“how in the world did you ever sleep through it, billy?” his mother asked, coming in from the tank-room where she had been to investigate. “there is a small flood there. i should think the first drop would have wakened you.”

“it came to me feet foremost, i guess, and soaked the quilt in instalments. i had a tough dream, too; couldn’t wake up in the middle. i dreamed i was on a ship in a bang-up storm, and the vessel lunged like a bucking horse.”

“yes, i can see that the wind, the shaking tower, the creaking mill, would bring such dreams,” his mother said. “hear the wind howl now!”

“and i thought all the crew were washed overboard like chips,” he went on; “and i was left alone. and she shipped water in mountains. and i was cold as the north pole. and at last she foundered, and i went down with her. and when i couldn’t choke any more i woke up.”

“poor little billy! you’ve had a hard night of it.”

“kinder rocky.”

he smiled wanly, and her heart ached for him; but she knew sympathy was unsafe just then. “if you could see that comical, crooked eye of yours blinking at me, like a chicken asking your intentions, you’d laugh, billy.”

he did laugh, yet was sober again. she was tucking the clothes close about him, preparing to lie down by his side. but he reached his arms out suddenly and flung them around her neck. “o mamma, the awfullest thing in the world next to doing a crime, must be not to have a mother. i must jolly may nell more. and, mamma—mother, i don’t know why,—” his voice was very low and shy, “why god’s looked out for me so good; but anyway, you’re—you’re the whole bunch!”

she pressed him closer and kissed him. and soon he slept.

but his mother watched out the night.