the secret.
“I want to tell you, dreadfully; but I can’t, because I’ve promised.”
“What, never?”
“Never!” and Jack looked as firm as a rock.
“Then I shall find out, for I haven’t promised.”
“You can’t.”
“See if I don’t!”
“You are sharp, but you won’t guess this. It’s a tremendous secret,
and nobody will tell it.”
“You’ll tell it yourself. You always do.”
“I won’t tell this. It would be mean.”
“Wait and see; I can get anything out of you if I try”; and Jill
laughed, knowing her power well, for Jack found it very hard to
keep a secret from her.
“Don’t try; please don’t! It wouldn’t be right, and you don’t want to
make me do a dishonorable thing for your sake, I know.”
Jack looked so distressed that Jill promised not to make him tell,
though she held herself free to find out in other ways, if she could.
Thus relieved, Jack trudged off to school on Friday with the two
dollars and seventy-five cents jingling in his pocket, though the
dear gold coin had to be sacrificed to make up the sum. He did his
lessons badly that day, was late at recess in the afternoon, and, as
soon as school was over, departed in his rubber boots “to take a
walk,” he said, though the roads were in a bad state with a spring
thaw. Nothing was seen of him till after tea-time, when he came
limping in, very dirty and tired, but with a reposeful expression,
which betrayed that a load was off his mind. Frank was busy about
his own affairs and paid little attention to him, but Jill was on
tenter-hooks to know where he had been, yet dared not ask the
question.
“Merry’s brother wants some cards. He liked hers so much he
wishes to make his lady-love a present. Here’s the name”; and Jill
held up the order from Harry Grant, who was to be married in the
autumn.
“Must wait till next week. I’m too tired to do a thing to-night, and I
hate the sight of that old press,” answered Jack, laying himself
down upon the rug as if every joint ached.
“What made you take such a long walk? You look as tired as if
you’d been ten miles,” said Jill, hoping to discover the length of the
trip.
“Had to. Four or five miles isn’t much, only my leg bothered me”;
and Jack gave the ailing member a slap, as if he had found it much
in his way that day; for, though he had given up the crutches long
ago, he rather missed their support sometimes. Then, with a great
yawn, he stretched himself out to bask in the blaze, pillowing his
head on his arms.
“Dear old thing, he looks all used up; I won’t plague him with
talking”; and Jill began to sing, as she often did in the twilight.
By the time the first song ended a gentle snore was heard, and Jack
lay fast asleep, worn out with the busy week and the walk, which
had been longer and harder than anyone guessed. Jill took up her
knitting and worked quietly by firelight, still wondering and
guessing what the secret could be; for she had not much to amuse
her, and little things were very interesting if connected with her
friends. Presently Jack rolled over and began to mutter in his sleep,
as he often did when too weary for sound slumber. Jill paid no
attention till he uttered a name which made her prick up her ears
and listen to the hroken sentences which followed. Only a few
words, but she dropped her work, saying to herself,
“I do believe he is talking about the secret. Now I shall find out,
and he will tell me himself, as I said he would.”
Much pleased, she leaned and listened, but could make no sense of
the confused babble about “heavy boots”; “All right, old fellow”;
“Jerry’s off”; and “The ink is too thick.”
The slam of the front door woke Jack, and he pulled himself up,
declaring that he believed he had been having a nap.
“I wish you’d have another,” said Jill, greatly disappointed at the