“Well, all the same,” Milly said, stubbornly, though she smiled at him again with a flash of gratitude in the big, troubled eyes, “I do wish there was some way I could earn even a little bit, so at least I’d know I was paying for part of what we cost Cousin Callie.” “Mother wouldn’t like to have you feel that way, if she knew,” Lis reminded her. Milly appeared to hesitate as if deliberating her next words. Then suddenly she pulled the big armchair nearer, and leaned toward the boy. “Lis, I—I do know of a way I—could earn something—not much, but—_something_,” she breathed, her thin hands clasping and unclasping each other in her lap as she talked. “If I told you—asked you to help me and—and keep it a secret from—everyone—even Cousin Callie, and—Erica—would you promise?” Lis looked a little doubtful. “But I don’t know what it is, you see,” he pointed out, coloring. “Maybe——” “There’s nothing _wrong_ in it—you’ll agree when you hear,” Milly broke in, feverishly. “But I—don’t want anyone to know till I’ve proved I can do it—successfully. If you think it’s something your mother would really mind, of course you can tell her. But will you promise not to, otherwise?” “Sure, that sounds fair enough,” Lis assented, heartily. “Go ahead; I’m all ears.” But in spite of his flippant words his tone was kind, and the friendly sympathy in his face not to be mistaken. Milly drew a long, relieved breath, and put her hand impulsively on his coat sleeve. “I guess we—we _are_ going to be friends, Lis,” she said, gratefully, and turned her head at the sound of footsteps behind her. Lis, following with his own glance the direction of hers, swung about in his chair as Erica burst into the sitting room in her usual headlong hurry. “Aunt Charity’s sick,” the latter announced in a tone that shook slightly from running and alarm combined. “Where’s Aunt Callie, Lis? I think she’d better come over, if she can.” “Oh, I’m sorry,” Lis said, jumping up, his expression full of concern. “What’s the matter, Rick? She was all right this afternoon, wasn’t she?” “Yes, she seemed to be,” Erica agreed, dubiously. “But I guess she wasn’t letting on how she felt. Right after supper she had a funny sort of faint turn—took me most ten minutes to bring her to. I was awfully scared, I can tell you. But she’s in bed now, and doesn’t want me to send for the doctor. So I thought I’d better come over and tell your mother.” “I’ll call her,” Lis offered, and pulled his chair closer to the hearth. “Sit down here, Rick; you’re all worked up and excited. I’m sure there’s nothing really to worry about,” he added. “Don’t most women faint?” he asked, naïvely. Erica laughed scornfully. “Not Aunt Charity. That’s what scared me. I don’t believe she ever did such a thing before in her whole life. You ask Aunt Callie to hurry down, please. I don’t want to leave her alone over there longer than I can help.”