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 . 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 . “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 .
 
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 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 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 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, 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 a boy could live through; and 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 in his words halted her. “Mother, this wasn’t a boys’ at all. I didn’t think of you or—or anything; an’ something must have Betsey, she never peeped. Mother, I felt—I felt mad enough to kill him!” He whispered the 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, , 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 eager to talk. His thoughts were , now in the present, again flying back to the past. “O mother, you should be lickin’ me ’nstead of petting me!” he broke out .
 
“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, i............