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 "Hardly at all, sir," answered Young Cy, without looking up. "Nor can I eat."

"What!" said Doctor Carter contemptuously. "One would almost think thou wert a mollycoddle thus to act!"

The blood whipped into the boy's face and he sprang to his feet, his eyes flashing.

"No man shall call me mollycoddle!" he cried, taking a threatening step forward and glaring at the little doctor over John's outthrust arm.

"There, there, lad, let us not quarrel!" smiled Doctor Carter, in a friendly way. "My prescription has worked all too well."

Young Cy stared at him suspiciously until John, smiling, too, gave him a little push toward the other.

"Shake hands, lad," he said tolerantly. "He does not really think thee a mollycoddle! He called thee that but to test thy mettle. Go home, now, and eat and sleep and all will yet be well."

"Mayhap ye are right," said Young Cy shamefacedly. "I am sorry I spoke rudely to ye just now." And he shook Doctor Carter's hand apologetically. "And now I am off for home. Jemima was making a dried-apple pie!"

But before he had reached the door it was flung open and a sweet-faced lady entered hurriedly.

"Nancy!" screamed Charity happily.

"Nancy!" cried Mistress Condit.

"Nancy!" whispered John's heart. But he alone failed to greet her. Indeed, he did not stir until a manly form entered the room, when he tore his gaze