Of course Milly wasn’t physically starved in his mother’s hospitable house and at her bountiful table. And surely, since coming to the island at least, nothing could have actually frightened the girl. It must be some experience that had happened before Milly came to them, Lis decided, knitting his brows indignantly at the notion. Some one had been unkind—not just that foolishness of Erica’s and Tommy’s, of course. No, this was something big and real that was hanging about Milly’s poor little thin neck like a veritable Pilgrim’s pack. Well, then, if that were so, since no one else appeared to be trying to do anything about it, he was going to have a crack at it himself. She couldn’t do any more than snap at him as he’d heard her do to Ricky. He put down his own book quietly, and leaned back in his chair. “Milly,” he said as casually as he could, for he was suddenly a bit shy over what he was doing, now that he’d made up his mind. Suppose she thought him just plain impertinent, instead of friendly. Milly’s dark eyes came up from her reading and regarded him with an unmistakable impatience, waiting for him to continue. Lis felt his face grow red, and hoped the glow of the flames would account for it, if the girl across the hearth noticed. But he went on with his self-appointed task bravely. “I’ve been doing some thinking.” Lis had a nice smile that very few people failed to respond to. He smiled now, and almost reluctantly a little flicker of answering friendliness softened the sharp black eyes watching him. “I wasn’t home when you and Barbee came to us,” he went on, encouraged by the change in her expression, slight as it was. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here then. But it was certainly mighty jolly to come home and find myself with two brand-new sisters. I’ve been wanting to tell you that I appreciate the company and help you’ve been to mother. She tells me you’ve taken over all the mending, and that you’ve even made over one of her dresses so it looks like new. That—that was real good of you, Milly. Mother hasn’t ever had much money for clothes, and she was as pleased as could be the way you made that black silk look.” He didn’t think it was only the firelight that caused that warm sweep of color across Milly Thorne’s pinched little face. Her book slid off her lap unnoticed, and she sat up straighter in the big chair. “I like to sew,” was all she said, however. “My—mother taught me when I was so little I could hardly hold a needle. I—kind of enjoy making over things—making them pretty, you know. It’s nothing to thank me for.” “Say, you’re all off your reckoning there,” Lis said, his smile broadening. “Don’t you really know that’s the nicest way folks can do favors for you—as if it was something they enjoyed?” Milly considered this in silence for a moment or two; then her grave face lighted with a smile so quick and brilliant that it was transfiguring.