“I know, father-among-the-angels, I’m not playing the game one bit now—not one bit; but I don’t believe even you could find anything to be glad about sleeping all alone ‘way off up here in the dark—like this. If only I was near Nancy or Aunt Polly, or even a Ladies’ Aider, it would be easier!”

Downstairs in the kitchen, Nancy, hurrying with her belated work, jabbed her dish-mop into the milk pitcher, and muttered Jerkily:

“If playin’ a silly-fool game—about bein’ glad you’ve got crutches when you want dolls—is got ter be—my way—o’ bein’ that rock o’ refuge—why, I’m a-goin’ ter play it—I am, I am!”