and still retaining his hold of me. "Yes, I am," I answered, tearfully. "Look at my arm." I pull up my sleeve cautiously and disclose an arm that looks indeed wonderfully white next the blood that trickles slowly from it. "Oh, horrible!" says our rich neighbor, with real and intense concern, and, taking out his handkerchief, proceeds to bind up my wound with the extremest tenderness. "Why didn't you let him take you down?" says Bill, reproachfully, who is rather struck by the blood. "It would have been better after all." "Of, course it would," says Mr. Carrington, raising his head for a moment from the contemplation of his surgical task to smile into my eyes. "But some little children are very foolish." "I was seventeen last May," I answered promptly. It is insufferable to be regarded as a child when one is almost eighteen. There is a touch of asperity in my tone. "Indeed! So old?" says our friend, still smiling. "Mr. Carrington," I begin, presently, in a rather whimpering tone, "you won't say anything about this at home--will you? You see, they--they might not like the idea of my climbing, and they would be angry. Of course I know it was very unladylike of me, and indeed"--very earnestly this--"I had no more intention of doing such a thing when I left home than I had of flying. Had I, Billy?" "You had not," says Billy. "I don't know what put the thought into your head. Why, it is two years since last you climbed a tree." This is a fearful lie; but the dear boy means well. "You won't betray me?" I say again to my kind doctor. "I would endure the tortures of the rack first," returns he, giving his bandage a final touch. "Be assured they shall never hear of it from me. You must not suspect me of being a tale-bearer, Miss Phyllis. Does your arm pain you still? have I made it more comfortable?" "I hardly feel it at all now," I answer, gratefully. "I don't know what I should have done but for you--first catching me as you did, and then dressing my hurt. But how shall I return you your handkerchief?" "May I not call to-morrow to see you are none the worse for your accident? It is a long week since last I was at Summerleas. Would I bore you all very much if I allowed myself there again soon?" "Not at all," I answered warmly, thinking of Dora; "the oftener you come the more we shall be pleased." "Would it please you to see me often?" He watches me keenly as he asks this question. "Yes, of course it would," I answer, politely, feeling slightly surprised at his tone--very slightly. "How long have you known me?" "Exactly a month yesterday," I exclaim, promptly; "it was on the 25th of August you first came to see us. I remember the date perfectly." "Do you?" with pleased surprise. "What impressed that uninteresting date upon your memory?" "Because it was on
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