“Yes, I’m glad to say. Your father asked for me.” “I’m so thankful! Now I’ll know he has the best of care. Oh Hazel, I’ll never forgive myself if—if anything—” Kitty couldn’t go on, and Hazel put an arm around her waist. Then she turned to Brad to say, “I think you’d better take her home. We’ll see to everything here.” “I couldn’t possibly go till I know what it is. Nobody can understand how I feel. I was away from him practically all day. Maybe if I’d put him to bed myself I would have touched him and found he had a fever.” “Don’t be absurd, Kitty,” said Hazel almost severely. “You couldn’t have prevented his picking up some germ. Stop blaming yourself for what can’t be helped.” “I know. You’re only trying to make me feel better about it,” said Kitty, wiping her tears with a large handkerchief which Brad had thrust into her hands. “That’s right. Dry your tears. You know men don’t like to see a woman cry,” Hazel reminded her. Kitty smiled. “Brad’s been awful good—helping us out.” “Keep it up a little longer, young man,” Hazel directed. “You and Kitty can wait in the sun parlor until they bring back the report. Then I’ll get Mr. Carter to look you up and let you know what the trouble is.” Kitty was glad to obey these instructions. Brad found some pictorial magazines and they sat on the couch, turning the pages, for there seemed nothing they could say while they waited. Kitty saw little of what was on those printed pages. Her ears were too alert for a familiar step in the hall. “How easy it is to take all the good things of life for granted until something like this comes along,” she thought. Ambition had been eternally prodding her to conquer new worlds, when within the four walls of her own home there should have been happiness enough to fill their three hearts to overflowing. She tried to tell Brad something of what she was thinking. “But your desire to help in Canteen work, or any war work, is no reason why you should blame yourself for neglecting Billy,” Brad said as he tried to make her see straight. “I know—of course not.” She brushed her hand across her eyes and back over her forehead. “That’s something we’ve all got to do—every man and woman in the country—or there won’t be any homes left for us to be happy in.” “You’re so sensible. It’s such a comfort to have someone to talk to—just to sit here with me!” “Gosh! I haven’t done anything!” Just then Kitty heard the long-expected footsteps in the hall and jumped up. Fortunately they had the sun parlor to themselves. All other visitors had long since gone home. Her father’s face told her at once that the situation was better than they feared. “A strep infection,” he said in answer to her eager question. “We’ll soon knock that out with the sulfa drug.” “What a relief! I think I would have died had it been anything worse.” “That’s bad enough if not caught in time,” her father stated. “How in the world do you suppose he got it?”