Next, Tommy had a bad sore throat, which, knowing they usually lasted a week, he concealed for two days, though swallowing hurt him pitifully, lest he should be housed and so miss the festivity, and if Mr. Hugh himself had not discovered the state of the case, he might have been very ill indeed. It was toward afternoon of the second day of the discomfort that Mr. Hugh, riding slowly up the road, was stopped by Tommy, who came out of the back gate, looking anxiously behind him, as if he was afraid of being followed. Mr. Hugh halted with a half amused, half questioning expression on his face, well knowing that Tommy wanted something of him, and called, “What’s up, little chap?” by way of greeting. Tommy clung to a leather stirrup and rested his cheek against it, for his legs were beginning to feel tired to the bone, which is one of the many bad things that a sore throat does to people, and asked in a voice that was so hoarse that it instantly attracted Mr. Hugh’s attention, “Please, if Miss Letty is hurt or sick Saturday, will you have the riding and the clay pigeon shoot and all the rest of the party?” “No, of course not. Has anything happened to her?” asked Mr. Hugh, anxiously. “No, not _yet_; but there may, you see, ’cause this is only Tuesday.” “Nonsense!” ejaculated Mr. Hugh, feeling astonished at the sense of relief that came over him; for, without realizing it, he was depending more and more upon the companionship of Miss Jule’s pretty niece, in spite of the fact that as he ceased teasing her and treating her like a child, she was taking her revenge, and had turned tables by always laughing at him and never seeming serious for a moment. “If--if Anne was sick, would you wait for her?” continued Tommy, more slowly. “Of course I would.” “Well, if I was sick, really, truly sick, with a lumpy sore throat, I suppose--you wouldn’t stop the party for only me?” There was a quaver to the last words, and though the child kept his face hidden, Mr. Hugh noticed for the first time that his cheeks were flushed, and the whole thing flashed across him. “Of course I’ll wait,” he said heartily. “It would never do to have the party a man short; besides, what would your sweetheart, Miss Letty, do? You know you promised to show her how to shoot, and lend her your gun. Is the poor throat very sore? Come up here and we will have a ride home round through the front gate, and tell that nice mother of ours all about it, and have it cured.”