A weatherworn, disreputable hammock swung lazily between two big fruit laden apple trees beside Aunt Kate’s home. Time was when it had been a gaudy, betasseled thing taken into the house each night. But familiarity breeds contempt for choice possessions as well as friends. Now the hammock hung unwatched from June until October. No longer a cherished chattel, it was left to face the ravages of time and weather and man.

Yet, in its ripe old age, it had achieved the goal of all good hammocks. It had found its place, not, of course, in the sun–that not being the custom of hammocks–but in Aunt Kate’s household. It had become a place of conference, of discussion, aye, even of mutual confession for Helen and her cousin Virginia.

It swung lazily in the light breeze of the morning. Not slothfully, but in the relaxation of resting strength prepared instantly to meet its burdens and responsibilities. It was well that this was so. Upon the self-same breeze which swung it, came sounds of laughter and the patter of small feet. With sudden strain and elastic resistance, carried even to the uppermost twigs of the trees, the hammock received the two girls as they precipitated themselves into its lap.“I beat,” cried Helen with the pride of victory, changed suddenly into a wail of anguish as a dislodged Bell-flower apple dropped upon her head. “Oh-o-o-o,” she groaned; “those apples make me mad. This is the second time that one of them has struck me on the head and I am getting tired of it.”

In her own end of the hammock Virginia was coiled in a most precarious position. She was so interested in her letter that she failed to give her cousin the full measure of tender sympathy to which that maiden felt herself entitled.

Helen rubbed her head with vigor. “Say something ‘V.’ Is anything the matter with your heart?” she exclaimed, fixing reproachful eyes upon her absorbed companion.

“Did it hurt?” Virginia, deep in her letter, politely inquired. Her words, however, lacked that warm condolence for which the head and heart of her cousin yearned.

“Did it hurt?” mimicked Helen in disgust. “What a question! It is exactly as bad as if a brick had fallen off the chimney on my head. Yet you sit there and ask if it hurt. What do you think my head is made of?”

“Fudge,” cried Virginia as the wind twisted her letter so that she could not read it.

“Wh-a-at?” Helen was highly indignant until she discovered that her cousin’s remark was not a personal allusion. “Never mind,” she threatened; “see how I treat you the next time that you get hurt.”

Virginia finished her letter. She wiggled over towards Helen, an operation which placed both girls in imminent danger of being pitched upon their faces. “I am sorry for your poor head, dear,” she giggled, “or should I be sorry for the apple? Let me look.”

Helen thrust aside the inquisitive fingers. “Let me alone, you unsympathetic wretch. Wait until my turn comes. Even if you writhe before me in great agony, I shall laugh. Laugh coldly–ha–ha.”

Virginia disregarded future calamities. “I have a letter from Joe Curtis. It happens to be one which I might read to you, if you are real nice.”

Instantly, feminine curiosity caused Helen to forget injuries and pledged vengeance. “Please, ‘V.,’ I should love to hear it,” she begged, and then listened with rapt attention as her cousin read,

“Affectionately,
“Joe.”

Virginia’s face was aglow with happiness as she finished reading and turned to Helen. “He is the nicest man. Doesn’t he write interesting letters to me?” she murmured softly.

The sentimental Helen gazed into the distance, lost in dreams conjured by this epistle. “Yes, he does,” she agreed. “You must adore him, dear.”

Virginia’s face crimsoned at this bold remark. “We are only friends,” she protested.

“Sincere friendship and complete understanding between two is wonderful,” sighed Helen from her eighteen years’ experience of the vicissitudes of life, and she displayed further keen insight into the problems of existence, when she continued, “Sympathetic appreciation strengthens one to meet sorrow.”

Virginia gazed raptly at her cousin.

“Such sincere friendship should be cherished as some tender flower,” Helen went on. “Is it not written that from the mouths of babes shall come wisdom?”

“You do express yourself so well, Helen. You have so much feeling in your nature–such breadth to your character, dear,” responded Virginia.

The two girls pensively viewed the pond, possibly recuperating from the strain of their conversation.

“It almost seems that I know him,” Helen whispered.

Virginia turned suspiciously upon her cousin. “Did you know Joe Curtis? Did you go to school with him?” she demanded.

“I can’t remember the name, ‘V.’ What does he look like?”

Very valiantly Virginia attempted a word picture of Joe. “He is a big fellow. His eyes are black–and large–and dreamy.” She mused for a moment and resumed with animation. “His eyes are bright–and snapping–and brave–” again she paused and then she concluded very softly–“and sweet. He has a smile which tears your heart.”

“How wonderful he must be!” sighed Helen. She shook her head emphatically. “If I had met him, I should have remembered him until the last hour of my life.”

There followed a dreamy silence devoted to maidenly meditation concerning the manifold charms of Joe Curtis until an idea caused Helen to cry, “Virginia, you should go fishing in the place Joe wrote about. I know where it is. Think of it, you would fish in the same place, in the same water and by the same lily pads where he has been. We couldn’t catch the same fish but we might catch relatives.”

“Let’s go now,” agreed Virginia, moved greatly by Helen’s sentimental suggestion.

It was a long pull in the row boat to the head of the pond; but they took turns at the oars and at last arrived at their destination. The day was warm and the exercise at the oars did not cool the girls.

Helen noted the position of the sun which yet hung high. “Nothing will bite, now ‘V.,’” she objected. “We came hours too soon. He said to fish at sundown. We had better go ashore and wait.”

Glad to get out of the burning sun, they rowed to the shore and, clambering up the bank, dropped down in a shady spot.

Suddenly Helen became restless. “I hear a strange humming noise,” she worried.

Virginia was likewise nervously alert. “I hear it, too. It’s a low buzzing–much louder than mosquitoes,” she agreed.“What can it be?” Helen troubled.

“It’s my hornets’ nest,” cried a childish voice behind them.

With startled exclamations, the girls turned their heads.

Looking over the top of a granite bowlder a short distance away was a small boy. He was a very thin and delicate child about five years old, wearing a pair of faded khaki rompers and a shirt of the same material.

“Don’t you know any better than to sit under a hornets’ nest?” he exclaimed in disgust. “Do you want to get yourselves stung to death?”

The two girls raised their eyes. Partially concealed by the lower branches of the tree, a great cone of clay hung above them. From it and the insects flying about it came the buzzing sound.

“Crawl, Virginia, and don’t you dare make a noise,” whispered Helen.

From the top of the rock the infant witnessed the ignominious retreat from dangerous territory. “Come over here,” he urged. “Much hornets never come near me.”

Relying upon the superior judgment of the masculine mind, the girls turned and humbly crept towards this place of refuge.

“I guess you might stand up, now,” the boy told them. “If the hornets had wanted to sting you, they’d have done it before.”

They arose and forthwith began to dust their skirts.

“Stop!” commanded the child in a voice of alarm. “Haven’t you got any sense? Want to get me stung? If you make a noise the hornets will come sneaking over to see what is going on.” His manner changed to one of great politeness as he went on, “I have a house back here. You can come over there and dust yourselves if you want to.” He slid down back of the rock. When he reappeared around its corner, he made funny little skips and for the first time they noticed that he used a crutch. One of his legs was flexed by distorted muscles until he carried it a couple of inches above the ground. Notwithstanding this handicap, he moved rapidly along a pathway ahead of him. Where the grass of the meadow began at the edge of the woods, he waited for them and pointed with pride to a small opening in a clump of birches. “This is my house,” he told them.

Virginia dropped upon her knees and peeped in. “How lovely,” she cried.

Before her the flat top of a rock projecting slightly above the surface of the ground served as a floor. A thick hedge of birch saplings grew about it, constituting the walls. The branches arching it had been cut away as high as a man’s head. Above this they joined in a dense mass, forming the roof of the bower.

Following their little host, the girls entered.

“What a lovely house,” said Helen. “Did you make it?”

“God made most of it,” he answered with great solemnity. “Mother cut away the high branches and I cut the low ones and it was done. I didn’t have it all, at first, though.”

“How was that?” Helen inquired.

“Mr. Woodchuck lived in the cellar beneath the stone. There is his stairway.” He pointed to an opening at the edge of the rock, surrounded by pebbles and clay. “As soon as I moved in Mr. Woodchuck moved out.”

“Are you all alone now?”

“Oh, no indeed, a chipmunk lives over there, who is very friendly. Up in that tree is a bird’s nest; but the young ones have gone away now. Then there are the hornets and a snake lives under the rock over there.”

“Snakes!” screamed both of the girls.

“Yes, a grass snake.” The infant was openly disgusted at the display of feminine timidity. “Who’s afraid of an old snake? I’m not. That snake is so afraid that I will catch him that he don’t dare come out.”

The neighborhood distrust relieved the fears of the visitors and they began to make themselves comfortable.

“Oh, ‘V.,’ this would be a grand place to eat our lunch,” suggested Helen and to the boy she said, “We have something to eat in our boat. May we bring it here and will you have lunch with us?”

“That would be fine,” he agreed. “You get your lunch and I will get some milk for us to drink from my mother.”

“Don’t disturb her,” protested Virginia. “We have plenty. And we have a thermos bottle of water, too.”

“My mother won’t care a bit. She loves to have me eat and she wants me to drink lots of milk so that I will grow big and strong to take care of her. I haven’t any father, you see.” Without further words the lad disappeared.

Taking care to avoid the hornets, the girls brought their lunch from the boat and were soon joined by the boy bringing a pitcher of milk and some tin cups.

“Mother said that she was glad for us to have the milk and that after lunch I am to bring you up to see her. Please come,” he begged. “I want my mother to know both of you so that after you are gone I can talk to her about you and she will understand. I don’t often have visitors at my house.” In a burst of confidence, “I never had any before. Please do come.”

The pleading face of the boy was very attractive to Virginia as she looked into it. Its wistfulness persuaded her. “We will go and see your mother,” she promised.

A happy, satisfied smile came into his face. There was something familiar about that to Virginia. Her eyes became dreamy.

“I’m going to kiss you,” Helen suddenly announced.

He resisted violently but was overpowered and force prevailed. “What do you want to do that for?” he objected, unappreciative of the favor so generously showered upon him by the fair Helen. “It spoils the fun. Don’t you know any better than to want to kiss a feller all the time?” he complained.

The sight of food pacified the infant as the girls spread the lunch. They all enjoyed the feast in the leafy bower and consumed a remarkable quantity of sandwiches, doughnuts, apple pie and milk. “My, but that was good!” he announced. “Don’t you think that my house is a good place to eat in? I told my mother that if I could eat here all of the time I would get fat; but she said that I would become a worse little savage than I am.”

The boy chattered on as he led them over the meadow towards the back of a weather-beaten farmhouse. “Moth-er, Moth-er,” he shouted, as they approached the back door.

A middle aged woman of good appearance came to the door. Trouble had deeply marked her face. “Won’t you come in?” she urged. “Charles Augustus,” she reproved her son, “you should bring ladies to the front of the house, not to the kitchen door.”

“What’s the difference?” he argued. “You can get in either way, mother, and this is the nearest.”

The girls, much amused at the reasoning of Charles Augustus, followed his mother through a spotless kitchen and dining room into a very plainly furnished front room.

For a time Charles Augustus sat most sedately in a chair, listening to the conversation of the girls with his mother; but as the minutes passed; he became restless.

Recognizing this, his mother suggested that he get some sweet apples from a tree in front of the house for their guests.

Passing out of the open front door, he paused upon the stoop and began a shrill little tuneless whistle. As he moved forward, his foot or his crutch slipped. He lurched forward as if about to plunge headlong down the flight of steps which led to the yard below.

The eyes of the women had followed the little fellow, and as he swung forward they were filled with alarm. With half suppressed screams they sprang to their feet, thrusting out their arms as if they might catch him.

By a marvelous effort, the boy recovered his balance. He resumed his whistling as if nothing had happened and clumped heavily down the steps, disappearing from their view.

With a sigh of relief the girls sank back into their chairs.

But the mother remained standing, her eyes yet upon the doorway through which her son had departed. Her raised hands dropped to her side and the look of horror passed from her face, leaving it old and tired looking.

Helen arose and, with a word of explanation, disappeared after Charles Augustus.

Virginia marked the hands of the woman yet trembling from her shock. She reached forward and, gently pulling her down into a chair, pressed her soft cheek against the wrinkled face.

The woman fought to control her emotion, but her face sank into her hands and she began to weep. After a time her sobs lessened and she became calmer. She tried to smile through her tears at the girl. “He is my baby,” she whispered; “my lame, helpless boy.” A change came over her. She threw back her head and resistance blazed in her eyes. “He shan’t be lame,” she cried, shaken by the intensity of her feelings. Quickly the mood merged into one of utter helplessness. “If I could get the money,” she groaned, but almost instantly her former temper returned. “I will get it,” she resolved. “My boy shall have a fair start in life if I have to crawl on my hands and knees to get it for him.”

Virginia endeavored to soothe the almost hysterical woman. At last the tense nerves relaxed and self-control returned.

“You must think me silly and weak,” the woman told her. “I have been worrying too much. I am so alone with my thoughts here.”

“You have Charles Augustus,” suggested Virginia, as she stroked the bent shoulders.

“Yes,” admitted the woman. “But he goes to bed at six o’clock and that leaves the long evening in which to sit and think–and hate,” she blazed. Yet, in an instant her anger had departed and she went on sadly, “It is very lonely after Charles Augustus is asleep.”

“Is he your only child?” the girl asked.

“No, I have another boy, much older. He is big and strong and handsome and can take care of himself and his mother,” she explained with pride. “But he is young and is working his way through college. His pay is small and he has had some bad luck, but he is a joy and happiness in my life.”

Virginia watched the woman as if fascinated.

Thought for the comfort of her callers returned with composure to the mother of Charles Augustus. “My dear,” she said kindly, “I suppose that you are in Maine for a vacation. You don’t look like a native. It’s a shame for me to spoil this beautiful afternoon for you with my tears and troubles. I am nervous and overwrought. I had wonderful news yesterday. News which may make me glad all of the rest of my days or make me always sad.”“Please tell me about it,” begged Virginia.

The woman yielded to the girl’s entreaties and explained that, on the previous day, Charles Augustus had been taken to a physician in Old Rock because of some infantile disease. After treating the boy, the doctor had examined his leg with great interest. Hunting up a copy of a recent medical journal he had shown the mother a description of an operation for a similar case in a New York hospital. It had resulted in the complete recovery of the use of a crippled limb. “That boy’s leg could be cured if we could get him on an operating table before he is too old,” the doctor had declared with confidence.

The news of the possibility of her son’s cure had filled Charles Augustus’s mother with joy; but her inability to raise the money for such an operation had almost driven her frantic.

When she ended, Virginia took hold of her hands. “Won’t you let me help you?” she begged softly. “There must be a way to do it and I should like to, for–” she hesitated a moment and then–“the sake of Charles Augustus.”

The woman looked into the girl’s eyes. She found a sweetness there which appealed to her. “I would have no right to refuse any help which would rid my boy of that crutch,” she answered.

At the door Virginia glanced back. “Charles Augustus’s crutch would make nice kindling wood,” she called. “A motorcycle would be much nicer for him.”

A hopeful smile crept over the tired face of the woman. “Life would be very beautiful if my Charles Augustus could run and play and ride a wheel like other boys,” she said.

Virginia found her cousin and the lad in the midst of a great romp. He beamed at Helen, of whom he had become a great admirer, regardless of her sentimental tendencies. “We didn’t miss your cousin one bit, did we?” he announced, and then, “I don’t see anything in that to laugh at,” when the girls gave vent to their merriment.

“We are going now, Charles Augustus,” Helen told him. “Kiss me good bye.”

Regardless of his earlier attitude, the lad succumbed to the allure of a beautiful woman as has man since the beginning of things.

“Are you coming again soon?” he demanded.

“Yes,” Virginia answered. She was very serious and thoughtful as she followed the lad and the gay and talkative Helen another way to the pond. As she passed the mail box, she raised her eyes and upon it read the name, “Curtis.”

“I knew it,” she whispered. “Joe has his mother’s eyes.”