Three years had brought about some changes. Little John's place was
vacant. A sudden sharp illness, and the frail life went out, leaving a
sweet and gentle memory, for John had helped in ways he did not dream
of. Every one of those merry girls and boys was more thoughtful and
tender for the association with him. Seeing the pleasure their
companionship gave him, they learned the value of simple friendliness.
Fred Ames had gone to Chicago to live, and this reduced the members of
the Order to ten, not counting, of course, the "Honoraries," as Miss
Brown and Aunt Zelie were called.
"I can't imagine what ails Jim," Carl remarked at the lunch table one
day, a week or two after Uncle William's birthday; "he wasn't at
school and when I stopped there on my way home the man said he
believed he had a headache and could not see anyone. That is not in
the least like Jim."
"I see nothing so strange in that. A headache can be a very serious
thing while it lasts," said his father.
"But if you had seen the man. He looked as if he were making it up."
"Much study has affected your imagination, Carl," laughed Cousin
Helen.
"And what is the matter with you, then, Cousin Helen? Who sent Aunt
Zelie a postal card with nothing on it but the address?" inquired
Louise.
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