“It’s a perfectly jimmy sign!” declared the girl delightedly.

The boy turned with an amused smile. “What’s a ‘jimmy’ sign, Hope? One made by Jim?”

“N-no, not exactly. Jimmy means awfully nice—something very—very pleasing—quite darling! See?”

“Of course,” answered her brother. “It’s as plain as the nose on your face.”

“My nose isn’t plain,” was the retort. “It’s a real Hazard nose, just like yours and Lady’s.”

“Sort of a jimmy nose,” laughed the boy. “Sis, if you keep on coining words, you’ll have to publish a vocabulary or no one will be able to understand you. What was it you called the back room upstairs yesterday?”

“Snudgy,” replied Hope Hazard gravely. “And that’s just what it is; small and hot and—and snudgy! It’s the snudgiest room I ever saw, Jim.”

“Well, don’t let Jane hear you call it snudgy. She might leave. But, say, that’s a pretty good-looking sign, isn’t it? I don’t believe any one could tell it was home-made, eh?”

“N-no, not unless they looked real close. I guess that Y is a little bit wipsy, though, Jim.”

Jim Hazard frowned intently for a moment at the letter in question. “Well, maybe it is kind of out of plumb with the others,” he acknowledged. “Just the same, I think I’m a pretty good sign painter, sis. Now what’s to do?”

“Curtains in the front room upstairs; the rented one,” replied Hope promptly.

“Oh, hang the curtains!” grumbled Jim.

“That’s what I meant,” laughed Hope. “Never mind, they’re the last ones. And we really must get them up because our star boarder may come any moment.”

“All right,” he answered resignedly, “but I’ve got to cool off first.” He seated himself on the top step and Hope perched herself beside him. Jim fanned himself with the screw-driver, and they both laughed. Then the boy’s smile died away, and his forehead puckered itself into lines of worry.

“Hope, we’ve got to do better than this or Sunnywood will be vacant again. Four rooms to rent and only one taken! Didn’t you think from what Mr. Gordon said that we’d get all the fellows we wanted?”

“Yes, but maybe they don’t look for rooms until they get here,” she answered cheerfully. “And you know they don’t begin to come until this afternoon.”

“I don’t believe that,” he answered. “Fellows wouldn’t come and not know where they were going to live. I don’t think Mr. Gordon has treated us fairly, Hope. That lady over there—”

“Mrs. Sanger.”

“Took the sign out of her window this morning. I guess that means that her rooms are all taken. I’ll bet Mr. Gordon has been sending the fellows to the other houses and leaving us out of it.”

“Oh, he wouldn’t do that,” Hope protested, “after all the nice things he said to mama.”

“You can’t tell. Besides, we don’t know just what nice things he did say. You know very well that if a person doesn’t actually call Lady names she thinks they’ve been as nice as pie to her. Wish I had her gift of thinking the very best of everything and everybody. Well, if something doesn’t happen pretty soon, I’m going to see Mr. Gordon and tell him what I think about it. One thing we do know is that he wrote Lady that if she took the house she wouldn’t have any trouble in renting the rooms.”

“Well, let’s hope for the best, Jim,” said his sister, laying a small brown hand on his shoulder and giving him a reassuring pinch.

“That’s you all over,” he muttered. “Guess they knew what they were about when they named you Hope.”

“Well, they didn’t name you Despair,” she laughed, “so don’t try and play they did. It’s most time Lady was back, isn’t it?”

Jim nodded and looked down the street toward the village a half-mile away. “That’s her now, I guess; away down by the big elm; see?”

“Yes, it is. Let’s go and meet her, Jim. She’s probably got a lot of things to carry.”

“All right!” Jim laid down the screw-driver and pushed the ladder aside. “You’d better put a hat on, though.”

“Nonsense! The sun won’t hurt me. Come on.”

They went out of the gate together, and walked briskly down the sidewalk. Jim was half a head taller than his sister, rather thin, a bit raw-boned, in fact, but strong looking, and good looking, too, in spite of a smudge of dirt across his forehead and a generally begrimed appearance due to the fact that he had been sign-painting, carpentering, and house-cleaning all the forenoon. Besides this, he wore the very oldest clothes he owned, and that he managed to look prepossessing in spite of these handicaps speaks rather well for him. He had brown hair and brown eyes, but the hair was light, extremely light in places, as though it had been faded by sun and weather, and the eyes were very dark. Hope had told him once that he had perfectly lovely eyes, they looked so much like sweet chocolate! For the rest, Jim was tanned and hardy-looking, with more often than not a little puckery frown on his forehead, for at sixteen years of age he had already been head of the family for three years.

Hope Hazard isn’t quite so easily described, and I’d flunk the task if I might. She was fourteen, slender, golden-haired, gray-eyed, light-hearted. As Jim had said, she had been well named, for hopefulness was the key-note of her nature, and Jim, who was somewhat prone to borrow trouble if he had none of his own, called her frivolous in moments of exasperation. But Hope came honestly by her sunny optimism, for her mother had always been the most hopeful, cheerful soul in the world, and even Mr. Hazard’s death and the immediate collapse of the family fortunes had failed to change her.

Mother and daughter looked much alike. Mrs. Hazard was quite tall, still young looking, and still pretty. She had gray eyes, like Hope’s, and if they were a trifle more faded, they still twinkled brightly at the slightest provocation. Jim was more like his father, a little more serious, with something of New England granite showing in his face, a heritage from a race of coast-dwelling Hazards. The Hazard nose, which Hope fondly believed she had inherited, and which was a straight and stern appendage, well shaped but uncompromising, was his, while Mrs. Hazard’s nose was an undignified, even flippant affair that looked for all the world as though, had it had proper encouragement at an early stage, it would have become tip-tilted. Truth compels the admission that in Hope’s case the Hazard nose was more a matter of anticipation than realization, in spite of the fact that she religiously pulled it and pinched it in the attempt to make it conform to Hazard requirements. Perhaps it is a mean thing to say, but Hope’s nose was more remarkable for the cluster of three big freckles on the end of it than for beauty of contour.

Mrs. Hazard yielded her packages to the children and gave an account of her shopping expedition. “It’s lots of fun buying things in Crofton, my dears; quite exciting. You never know when you ask for a thing what you are going to get. I tried to buy some scrim to make curtains for Jane’s room, and what do you suppose I got? Why, some muslin for a next summer dress for Hope! It was really very sweet and pretty.”

“And I suppose,” said Jim, with a smile, “that when Hope isn’t wearing it, Jane can hang it up at her window.”

“I think you’ll have to do the shopping, Jim,” continued Mrs. Hazard. “They don’t take me seriously, I’m afraid. If I want a wash-board, they smile at me humoringly and sell me a nutmeg grater! And two or three things I meant to get, I forgot all about!”

“Did you get the blankets, Lady?” asked Jim anxiously.

“Oh, yes; and the toweling, and the mat for the front door. But I forgot bluing and soap and meat for supper.”

“Well, if we don’t rent some rooms we won’t be able to afford supper,” replied Jim grimly. “I don’t think Mr. Gordon has been treating us decently, Lady.”

“Oh, I’m sure he has done all he could, dear. I can’t doubt that after the nice way he talked.”

“Talk’s cheap,” growled Jim. “Why doesn’t he send some boys here to rent our rooms?”

“He will, I’m sure. You wait and see.”

“That woman over there has taken her sign down already.”

“But she’s been here for years, Jim dear, while we are only starting. It’s going to take time, of course. Meanwhile we have that Latham boy—”

“And he’s a cripple,” interrupted Jim, “and I dare say no one else would take him!”

“I don’t think that at all,” protested his mother as they entered the gate, “for Mr. Gordon said that he was sending him to me because he wanted a place where the poor boy could be well looked after. Oh, how nice your sign looks! I suppose it is perfectly all right to have a sign, Jim, but I see none of the other houses have any.”

“That’s the point,” replied Jim. “This is going to be different. Fellows who come here are going to be at home; this isn’t going to be just a plain boarding-house, Lady. Isn’t it most dinner time? I’m pretty hungry.”

“You shall have it right away. I’ll tell Jane I’m back.” She hurried through to the kitchen, and Jim, with a sigh, picked up his step-ladder and, followed by Hope, trudged upstairs to hang the curtains in the corner room.

“I wonder what sort of a cripple he is,” mused Hope, as she paired the strips of flounced muslin. “I do hope he will be nice.”

“I wish Mr. Gordon had sent his cripple somewhere else,” muttered her brother as he worked the brass pole through the heading. “Anybody can impose on Lady.”

“Jim, you’re perfectly awful to-day! You’re just one long wail of despair. I guess you want your dinner. Boys are always grumpy when they’re hungry. Here’s a hole in this curtain. I’ll draw it together after dinner.”

“It’s good enough for him,” growled Jim, who was working himself rapidly into a fit of ill-temper. “I dare say we’ll have to lug him up and down stairs, too.”

“Oh, I don’t believe he’s that kind of a cripple,” responded Hope. “And he has a perfectly jimmy name, hasn’t he? Jeffrey Latham; it’s quite a—a romantic sort of name, Jim.”

“He’s probably a pasty-faced little milksop. There, that’s the last, thank goodness! My, it’s no wonder I’m hungry!” he added, as he looked at his nickel watch. “It’s half-past two and after!”

“It can’t be!”

“It is, though. Hello, what’s that?” He pushed the new curtains aside at a front window and looked out. “It’s a carriage—with a trunk—and bags! I’ll bet it’s the cripple, Hope! Run and tell Lady!”

His sister hurried downstairs, and Jim, lugging his step-ladder with him, followed more slowly, grumbling as he went. “It’s a wonder he couldn’t stay away until the room was ready for him.” He put the ladder out of the way and went out onto the porch in time to see the driver of the carriage open the door and the rubber-tipped ends of a pair of crutches appear. Still resentful, Jim went down the path and reached the gate just as the occupant of the vehicle swung himself nimbly to the sidewalk.

“This is Mrs. Hazard’s, isn’t it?” he asked of Jim.

“Yes. I suppose you’re Latham.”

Jim’s tone was not very gracious and the newcomer looked a little surprised. He was a slight, nice looking boy of fifteen, with big wistful brown eyes set in a somewhat pale but cheerful face. He was dressed extremely well, even expensively, and was quite immaculate from the crown of his Panama hat to the tips of his smart tan shoes. As he turned to speak to the driver he looked like any healthy, normal boy, for he appeared well built, straight of back and limb, and it was only when he crossed the sidewalk to the gate that any imperfection showed. Then Jim saw that one foot, the left one, swung clear of the ground by several inches.

“If you’ll tell the man where my room is he will take my baggage up,” said Jeffrey.

Mrs. Hazard met him on the porch, while Hope, frankly curious, hovered in the background.

“I’m so glad to see you,” said Jim’s mother as she shook hands with Jeffrey. “I’ll show you your room, and then you must come down and have some dinner with us. This is my daughter Hope, and my son you’ve already met. And I am Mrs. Hazard. I almost forgot to introduce myself, didn’t I?”

Jeffrey bowed to Hope. “Thank you, ma’am,” he answered, “I’d like to go to my room, but I’ve had my dinner. I stopped at the lunch room.”

“Lunch room! Good gracious!” exclaimed Mrs. Hazard, “that’s no dinner for a grown boy! Of course you’ll have something with us; although we’re hardly settled yet, and our meals are still rather skimpy.”

Jeffrey murmured thanks as he followed her upstairs, abandoning one of his crutches and helping himself along by the banister. The driver followed with his trunk, and Jim and Hope were left alone in the hall.

“Isn’t it a perfect shame?” cried Hope indignantly, when the star boarder was out of hearing. “He’s such a nice boy!”

“Isn’t what a shame?” growled Jim.

“Why, his being like that! Having to go about on crutches! We must be awfully kind to him, Jim.”

“Huh!” Jim picked up the boy’s bags and started upstairs. “Guess I’d be willing to use crutches if I could wear clothes like his and buy bags like these!”

“Oh, Jim!” protested Hope. “That’s an awful thing to say! You shouldn’t talk like that even—even in fun.”

Jim grunted and went on. “Bet you,” he said to himself, “he will kick about his room. The carpet’s worn out and there ought to be new paper on the walls.” But if Jeffrey Latham observed these things, no one would have suspected it.

“What a bully room!” he was saying as Jim entered. “Isn’t it nice and sunny? May I keep my trunk in here, Mrs. Hazard?”

“Why, certainly. Between the window and the bureau would be a good place, wouldn’t it? I’m so glad you like the room. It’s the pleasantest in the house.”

Jeffrey took out a pigskin purse and opened it, exhibiting what looked to Jim like a good deal of money. “How much do I owe you?” he asked the driver.

“One dollar, sir. Fifty cents for you, sir, and the trunk and bags extry.”

“Nonsense!” said Jim sharply. “He’s trying to do you, Latham. Seventy-five’s all it ought to be.”

“With a heavy trunk and two bags like them!” demanded the driver incredulously. Jeffrey laughed.

“I dare say the trunk was heavy,” he said as he paid the amount asked. “Thank you very much.”

The driver, mollified, touched his hat and took his departure. Jim looked his disgust at such a reckless waste of money.

“The bathroom is just down the hall on the left,” explained Mrs. Hazard. “Dinner is ready, but you needn’t hurry. Your name is Jeffrey, isn’t it? You see, I must know what to call you.”

“Yes’m, it’s Jeffrey, but I’m generally called Jeff. I’ll just wash a bit and come right down, although I’m really not hungry.”

Perhaps Hope was right in her theory that what Jim needed was food, for after he had had his soup he forgot his peevishness. Mrs. Hazard did most of the talking, although Hope showed unmistakable symptoms of being quite willing to help out. Jeffrey answered questions unreservedly. They learned that his home was in Poughkeepsie, New York; that he was entered in the Lower Middle Class; that he had never been away from his folks before, although he had evidently traveled about a good deal; and that while others might pity him for his infirmity, he wasted no pity on himself, but was quite cheerful and contented.

“Yes’m, I like reading pretty well,” he said in answer to one of Mrs. Hazard’s questions, “but I like to be out of doors better. There isn’t much I can do myself, but I like to see other fellows have fun. I’m crazy about football and baseball and things like that. At home I’m always running around to the games.”

“It must be very hard,” murmured Mrs. Hazard sympathetically, “not to be able to—to take part in them. But I do think you get about wonderfully on your crutches.”

“I ought to,” laughed Jeffrey. “I’ve been practising all my life. I’ve had this bum leg ever since I was born. Oh, you get used to it; used to not being able to do things like other fellows, I mean. Besides, I’ve seen chaps worse off than me. I can row a little.”

“Wish I could,” said Jim, making his second remark of the meal.

“I guess you could if you tried,” answered Jeffrey. “It isn’t hard. I suppose there are boats here?”

“Lots,” said Jim. “They have crews, too, you know.”

Jeffrey nodded. “Yes, that’s partly why I came here. I’ve always been fond of boat racing. At Poughkeepsie, you know, we have a lot of it every year. Are you—do you go to Crofton?”

“Yes,” answered Jim, passing his plate for a second helping, “I begin to-morrow. We’re in the same class, too.”

“Really? And are there other fellows here?”

“In the house? No, not yet. We’ve got three other rooms, but yours is the only one taken.”

“We hope to rent the others,” explained Mrs. Hazard. “This is our first year here. We have always lived in Essexport; that’s on the coast, you know; but when Jim decided that he’d rather go to Crofton than anywhere else, we decided that we couldn’t do without him. So we rented our house at home and took this. My husband died three years ago and since then Jim has looked after us. Hope and I are awful babies, aren’t we, Hope?”

“Speak for yourself, Lady! Jim and I— Listen! There’s somebody going upstairs!”

“I’ll see who it is.” Jim laid aside his napkin, pushed back his chair and hurried out. In the hall he was just in time to see the end of a bag disappear about the turn of the landing. He ran up the stairs, wondering. At the open door of Jeffrey’s room stood, bag in hand, a big thick-set boy of apparently seventeen years of age. He had a good deal of color in his cheeks, very dark eyes and a mass of unruly black hair under the funny little crimson cap perched on the back of his head. He turned at the sound of Jim’s approach and scowled at him across the banisters.

“Hello,” he growled.

“Hello,” replied Jim, taking at the instant a strong dislike to him. “Do you want a room?”

“No, I’m looking for four-leaved clovers,” he replied with a grin. “Who are you?”

“My name is Hazard,” answered Jim, beginning to lose his temper, “and I happen to live here, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh, I don’t mind,” laughed the other unpleasantly. “What I want to know is why isn’t my room ready?”

“Your room?”

“Sure! Those your things in there? If they are, dump ’em out, Bunker—or whatever your name is.”

“If you want a room I’ll show you one,” said Jim, “but that room’s taken.”

“Taken? You bet it’s taken! I took it last year, and if you don’t dump that trunk and those bags out I will.”

“That room is rented to a fellow named Latham,” answered Jim warmly. “Who the dickens are you, anyway?”

“Who am I? I’m Brandon Gary, that’s who I am. And I engaged this room from Mother Timberlake last June. And what’s more, I mean to have it!”