"Wish 't would; but that's a forbidden subject. I'll tell you one thing, Billy Farrington: if I ever do get any hair again, I'll guard it like the apple of my eye. But what about you?" "News." "Oh, what?" she questioned eagerly. "Well, we went down to see Dr. Parker, last Saturday." "What did he say?" "That I'm doing as well as could be expected." "What else? I know there's something good; you show it all over." Billy tried to draw down his face, failed, gave up the effort, and laughed instead. "'Tis good, Ted. I told them not to tell you, for I wanted the fun of it. He says I can plan to enter college, a year from this fall; he says in three months I can walk as far as my crutches will take me, and he says in a few years I'll be as well as ever. Isn't it fine? Why, Ted, what's the matter?" "Nothing; only I'm a goose." And Theodora looked up, her eyes shining with happy tears. "You know I'm glad, Billy; only I don't know how to say it straight." "That's all right, Ted. It sort of took my own breath away at first. I couldn't wait to tell you, for you've been the best friend I've had. You've pulled me through lots of bad places." Theodora's face was very gentle; but she laughed. "The chair runs easily, Billy. It didn't take much pulling." "That's another thing." Billy's face was growing brighter with every moment. "I've said good-by to the chair." "What do you mean? You can't walk yet?" "No; but I'm going to have a tricycle that runs with my hands, and I can go wherever I choose. How will you like to have me running away from you?" "You can't; I'll hang on behind, Billy. A tricycle? How splendid! I believe I envy you more than ever." "I'll swap my tricycle for your back," he retorted. "I wish we could take turns. When is it coming?" "Friday, the letter said." "All right; I'll make the most of the time till then. After you get it, there'll be no catching a glimpse of you." Billy laughed, and it seemed to Theodora that his laugh was a little mocking. "I'll whistle to you, as I go by. Honestly, Ted, it does seem hard to leave you alone, when we've had such great times together." His words were the echo of her thoughts. For a moment, Theodora struggled with herself. Then her real love for her friend triumphed. "It will make ever so much difference, Billy; but I'm glad of it. We've had our good times together, lots of them, and there'll always be our lessons, you know. Truly and honestly, you've had about all the girl you can stand, and it's time you were able to ride off with the boys." Billy leaned back in his chair and surveyed her through narrowed lids. "Girls aren't half bad, Teddy," he observed; "but I'm glad you take it so philosophically." There was a long pause. Then Theodora spoke. "I've some news, too, Billy." "Good?" "I thought so, till I heard yours. Now it seems rather flat." "What is it?" "My story is done," she answered quietly, but with a little heightening of her color.