"Oh, it was you, was it? Well, you did a mighty good thing for your brother there. He'd have lost plenty of blood before I got here if you hadn't." The whole of that day and the next night the boys remained at "Jim's." The doctor had positively objected to Old Tilly's going on without a day's quiet. And the little woman--the little woman would not hear of anything else but their staying! She had been out to the barn with Jim and seen the blackened corner. After that she hovered over the three boys like a hen over her chickens. "For--to think, Jim!--it was saving our home he got hurt!" she cried. The boys talked things over together, and Kent and Jot were for turning about and going straight home. But not so Old Tilly. "I guess! No, sir; we'll go right ahead and have our holiday out. It's great fun cruising round like this!" "But your hand, Old Tilly--the doctor said--" "To keep it quiet. He didn't say to sit down in a rocking-chair and sing it to sleep. I guess if I can't ride a wheel with one hand, my name isn't Nathan Eddy!" "It isn't'" laughed Kent. "It's Old Tilly Eddy!" But in the middle of the night a ghost appeared suddenly over Old Tilly. The pale moonlight introduced it timidly as Jot, in his white shirt. He sat down on the bed. "I'm going home," he announced in a whisper. "You other fellows can do as you like. Of course you can ride all right with one hand, if you're bound to. But I sha'n't ride with three hands any further from home! I'm going home! I--I feel as if I must!" Old Tilly sat up in bed. "You sick, Jotham Eddy?" he cried. "No--o, not sick--not reg'lar built! But I tell you I'm going home. It's no use saying anything--I've said it." "I believe you're sick; you're keeping something back, Jot." "Well, what if I am? Didn't you keep something back yourself, till you fainted away doing it? I'm going--you and Kentie needn't, of course. I tell you I feel as if I must." "He's sick, Kentie," Old Tilly said next morning. "There's something the matter with him, sure, or he wouldn't be so set. Don't you think he LOOKS kind of pale-ish?" "Pale-ish!" scoffed Kent. "Well, something's up. Mother put him in my care, and I'm going to take him home. I'd never forgive myself, and mother'd never forgive me, if anything happened to Jot away from home. I'm sorry on your account, Kentie." "Oh, go ahead! I'm all right," rejoined Kent, cheerfully. "I'd just as soon. We've had a jolly good time of it so far, and we can take the rest of it out in going fishing or camping at home." "Well, then we'll go right back home--on Jot's account. I feet as if I must take him to mother." Poor Jot! It was hard to be taken home that way, when all the while wasn't he taking wounded Old Tilly home to mother? It was the only way he had been able to work it out, lying awake and worrying over the torn wrist. Something must be done to get Old Tilly home.