"I've an invitation to dinner," said Bertie timidly, "me and William John. It's from Doctor Forbes's little girls--the ones that gave me the mittens." He handed her the little note, and Mrs. Ross stooped down and read it by the fitful gleam of light which came from the cracked stove. "Well, you can please yourself," she said as she handed it back, "but William John couldn't go if he had ten invitations. He caught cold coasting yesterday. I told him he would, but he was bound to go, and now he's laid up for a week. Listen to him barking in the bedroom there." "Well, then, I won't go either," said Bertie with a sigh, it might be of relief, or it might be of disappointment. "I wouldn't go there all alone." "You're a goose!" said his aunt. "They wouldn't eat you. But as I said, please yourself. Anyhow, hold your tongue about it to William John, or you'll have him crying and bawling to go too." The caution came too late. William John had already heard it, and when his mother went in to rub his chest with liniment, she found him with the ragged quilt over his head crying. "Come, William John, I want to rub you." "I don't want to be rubbed--g'way," sobbed William John. "I heard you out there--you needn't think I didn't. Bertie's going to Doctor Forbes's to dinner and I can't go." "Well, you've only yourself to thank for it," returned his mother. "If you hadn't persisted in going out coasting yesterday when I wanted you to stay in, you'd have been able to go to Doctor Forbes's. Little boys who won't do as they're told always get into trouble. Stop crying, now. I dare say if Bertie goes they'll send you some candy, or something." But William John refused to be comforted. He cried himself to sleep that night, and when Bertie went in to see him next morning, he found him sitting up in bed with his eyes red and swollen and the faded quilt drawn up around his pinched face. "Well, William John, how are you?" "I ain't any better," replied William John mournfully. "I s'pose you'll have a great time tomorrow night, Bertie?" "Oh, I'm not going since you can't," said Bertie cheerily. He thought this would comfort William John, but it had exactly the opposite effect. William John had cried until he could cry no more, but he turned around and sobbed. "There now!" he said in tearless despair. "That's just what I expected. I did s'pose if I couldn't go you would, and tell me about it. You're mean as mean can be." "Come now, William John, don't be so cross. I thought you'd rather have me home, but I'll go, if you want me to." "Honest, now?" "Yes, honest. I'll go anywhere to please you. I must be off to the store now. Goodbye." Thus committed, Bertie took his courage in both hands and went. The next evening at dusk found him standing at Doctor Forbes's door with a very violently beating heart. He was carefully dressed in his well-worn best suit and a neat white collar. The frosty air had crimsoned his cheeks and his hair was curling round his face.