“‘I thought that when people broke their limbs they had to stay in bed till they were mended again.’ “‘But mine was broken a week ago,’ he answers, smiling and showing his straight white teeth--ah, the miniature was silent about _them_! ‘You would not have had me stay in bed a whole week like an old woman?’ “‘I expected to have seen you much _iller_,’ say I, beginning to feel more at my ease, and with a sensible diminution of that unpleasant swelling sensation. ‘Father said in his note that we were to nurse you well again; that sounded as if you were _quite_ ill.’ “‘Your father always takes a great deal too much care of me,’ he says, with a slight frown and darkening of his whole bright face. ‘I might be sugar or salt.’ “‘And very kind of him, too,’ I cry, firing up. ‘What motive beside your own good can he have for looking after you? I call you rather ungrateful.’ “‘Do you?’ he says calmly, and without apparent resentment. ‘But you are mistaken. I am not ungrateful. However, naturally, you do not understand.’ “‘Oh, indeed!’ reply I, speaking rather shortly, and feeling a little offended, ‘I daresay not.’ “Our talk is taking a somewhat hostile tone; to what further amenities we might have proceeded is unknown; for at this point father and mother reappear through the window, and the necessity of conversing with each other at all ceases. “Father staid till evening, and we all supped together, and I was called upon to sit by Bobby, and cut up his food for him, as he was disabled from doing it for himself. Then, later still, when the sun had set, and all his evening reds and purples had followed him, when the night flowers were scenting all the garden, and the shadows lay about, enormously long in the summer moonlight, father got into the post-chaise again, and drove away through the black shadows and the faint clear shine, and Bobby stood at the hall-door watching him, with his arm in a sling and a wistful smile on lips and eyes. “‘Well, we are not left _quite_ desolate this time,’ says mother, turning with rather tearful laughter to the young man. ‘You wish that we were, do not you, Bobby?’ “‘You would not believe me, if I answered “No,” would you?’ he asks, with the same still smile. “‘He is not very polite to us, is he, Phœbe?’ “‘You would not wish me to be polite in such a case,’ he replies, flushing. ‘You would not wish me to be _glad_ at missing the chance of seeing any of the fun?’