"Do you mean I mustn't say anything about your burnt arm?"

"Yes."

"I won't, if I can help it."

"We know you can help it. Good night."

He let her go out, and she stole down to the kitchen, there to tell Mrs.

Grant, when she came in from the dining-room, that Oscar was in, and gone to bed, without saying anything of what she had done.

"I say, come up here, and help me on with my jacket," called Oscar, the next morning, from above stairs, to Inna below in the hall.

Up she ran, like a willing little friend in need, to the needy boy.

"This is my best jacket," said he, when the injured arm was safe in its sleeve. "Now you hear what Mother Peggy will say when she sees me adorned with it."

"Yes," returned Inna; "has it pained you to-night?"

"Well, yes; I never slept a wink till 'twas almost get-up time."

She looked at him; his face was worn, his eyes wild.

"Tell Uncle Jonathan, and let him see to it, or let me tell him."

"At your peril, if you do!" said he, like a very despot. "And besides, 'tis more like Billy Barlow's job than the doctor's."

"Let me tell Mr. Barlow, then," she pleaded.

"I tell you, you shan't. That's the worst of having a girl in a mess--she won't hold her tongue."

"Yes, I will, if they don't ask me about it," said the child.

To which Oscar returned "Hum!" and ran downstairs, challenging her to catch him. Well-nigh over Mrs. Grant he went, she carrying in the urn, Inna like a dancing tom-t.i.t behind.

"Have a care, Master Oscar," said the housekeeper, coming to a full stop to let him pa.s.s. "And what's that best jacket on for?"

"Because the one I wore yesterday is in holes," was the moody reply; and he slipped away into the dining-room, to end the discussion.

There must be silence there, for the doctor was in his place at the table, buried in his papers, waiting for someone to minister to his wants.

"I can't," whispered Oscar, after a vain attempt to wield the carving-knife; and he and Inna changed places like two shadows. Well, trying generally brings some sort of success: it did to Inna. Carved very creditably were the slices of meat she laid on her uncle's plate; and, fearing more of a deluge than usual at the urn, she took her seat at that, and presided over the meal with dainty dignity.

"I hope you're going to lessons to-day," said Mrs. Grant, as, the doctor gone, Oscar sauntered out into the pa.s.sage.

"Yes, I am," was the curt reply.

"And bring me that torn jacket to mend."

"'Tis past mending," was the reply, and, shouldering his book bag, the boy was gone.

"Do you think you could find your way down to the village, dearie, and inquire for Mrs. Jackson?" said the housekeeper to Inna. "I've known her from a girl, poor dear. Since she's married she's had losses, and now 'tis said she's lost all by the fire."

"I could find her by asking," returned Inna.

"True, dearie; you have a tongue in your head."

So a few minutes found Inna down in the heart of Cherton, asking for Mrs. Jackson. She found her in a neat cottage, and helping the mistress of the same to cook a monster dinner for two families. She looked pale and sad, but brightened at Inna's kindly message, and the baskets of comforts she told her Mrs. Grant sent with her and the doctor's compliments.

"Thank you, dear; and my compliments in return; and my heart's best thanks to that brave boy, your--your--what is he to you, miss? I suppose he's something?" said Mrs. Jackson.

"Do you mean Oscar?"

"Yes--he who saved my boy at the risk of his own young life."

Inna's cheeks flushed, and sweet lights stole into her eyes.

"Do you mean----?" she faltered.

"I mean he rushed up the burning staircase, and brought down this little chap," returned Mrs. Jackson, drawing a sunbeam of a boy of two to her side, "when strong men hesitated and stood back. Didn't you know?"

"No; I know he burnt his arm."

"Burnt, miss! 'Twas a wonder he wasn't burnt to a cinder. Give him my blessing--a mother's blessing--and tell him he ought to make a n.o.ble man." This was Mrs. Jackson's message to Oscar as she stood at the door, and watched the little girl away.

"Well, dear, that shows 'tisn't wise to condemn people before they're tried," was Mrs. Grant's comment when Inna told her of Oscar's brave deed.

Dr. Willett and Mr. Barlow would dine late, and would be away all day.

Oscar also failed to put in an appearance at dinner-time, so Inna dined in solitary state in the great dining-room, and had a pleasant afternoon in the orchard, where a man or two were gathering in apples. Still, she wished she knew why Oscar did not come to dinner, and where he was, for her heart was beginning to yearn already over the wilful, n.o.ble, undisciplined boy. It had always been her dream to have a brother--a big strong brother to lean upon, and here was one whom she would like to gather to her.

"I didn't want any dinner, so saw no use in coming home," was the account Oscar gave of himself that evening, when, at sundown, he came sauntering in. But he took his revenge by doing wonders at tea-time, sitting by the kitchen fire on a low stool, and eating his dinner, kept hot for him. Inna was in the dining-room, presiding at her uncle's meal, like a small queen.

"Does it hurt, dear lad?" inquired Mrs. Grant of the boy.

"No; what good is it to make a fuss about a scratch like that?" returned he, wielding knife and fork as best he could, now one, now the other in his left hand.

But lo! to the astonishment of all, out came Dr. Willett and Mr. Barlow into the kitchen--who so seldom came there--followed by Inna.

"Oscar, let me see your arm," said the doctor.

Ah! well the thing was out--so much for a girl.

"I hardly know that I can, 'tis such a tight fit of a sleeve," returned the boy, with a reproachful look at Inna.

"Well, it went in, I suppose, and it must come out," said Mr. Barlow, coming to his side.

"Oh, don't, sir!" It was pitiful to hear the boy plead thus at the very thought.

"Cut the sleeve," spoke the decisive doctor.