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 "How funny of him!" said Phyllis, breaking a cup.

"May I come in, Mother?" Peter was at the door of Mother's writing room, where Mother sat at her table with two candles in front of her. Their flames looked orange and violet against the clear gray blue of the sky where already a few stars were twinkling.

"Yes, dear," said Mother, absently, "anything wrong?" She wrote a few more words and then laid down her pen and began to fold up what she had written. "I was just writing to Jim's grandfather. He lives near here, you know."

"Yes, you said so at tea. That's what I want to say. Must you write to him, Mother? Couldn't we keep Jim, and not say anything to his people till he's well? It would be such a surprise for them."

"Well, yes," said Mother, laughing, "I think it would."

"You see," Peter went on. "Of course the girls are all right and all that—I'm not saying anything against them. But I should like it if I had another chap to talk to sometimes."

"Yes," said Mother, "I know it's dull for you,