Sowing Seeds in Danny | Page 7

him
rolled in."
At which Camilla again retired to the pantry with precipitate haste.
"Did you see the blue, blue sky, Daniel, and the white, white snow, and
did you see the little snow-birds, whirling by like brown leaves?" Mrs.
Francis asked with an air of great childishness.
"Nope," said Danny shortly, "didn't see nothin'."
"Please, ma'am," began Pearlie again, "it was the cloud around his head
on account of the earache that done it."
"It is sweet to look into his innocent young eyes and wonder what
visions they will some day see," went on Mrs. Francis, dreamily, but
there she stopped with a look of horror frozen on her face, for at the
mention of his eyes Danny remembered his best trick and how well it
had worked on Camilla, and in a flash his eyes were drawn down and
his mouth stretched to its utmost limit.
"What ails the child?" Mrs. Francis cried in alarm. "Camilla, come
here."
Camilla came out of the pantry and gazed at Danny with sparkling eyes,
while Pearlie, on the verge of tears, vainly tried to awaken in him some
sense of the shame he was bringing on her. Camilla hurried to the
pantry again, and brought another cookie. "I believe, Mrs. Francis, that
Danny is hungry," she said. "Children sometimes act that way," she
added, laughing.
"Really, how very interesting; I must see if Dr. Parker mentions this
strange phenomenon in his book."
"Please, ma'am, I think I had better take him home now," said Pearlie.
She knew what Danny was, and was afraid that greater disgrace might
await her. But when she tried to get him back into the blanket he lost
every joint in his body and slipped to the floor. This is what she had

feared--Danny had gone limber.
"I don't want to go home" he wailed dismally. "I want to stay with her,
and her; want to see the yalla burds, want a chockalut."
"Come Danny, that's a man," pleaded Pearlie, "and I'll tell you all about
the lovely pink lady when we go home, and I'll get Bugsey's gum for ye
and I'll--"
"No," Danny roared, "tell me how about the pink lady, tell her, and
her."
"Wait till we get home, Danny man." Pearlie's grief flowed afresh.
Disgrace had fallen on the Watsons, and Pearlie knew it.
"It would be interesting to know what mental food this little mind has
been receiving. Please do tell him the story, Pearlie."
Thus admonished, Pearlie, with flaming cheeks began the story. She
tried to make it less personal, but at every change Danny screamed his
disapproval, and held her to the original version, and when it was done,
he looked up with his sweet little smile, and said to Mrs. Francis
nodding his head. "You're it! You're the lovely pink lady." There was a
strange flush on Mrs. Francis's face, and a strange feeling stirring her
heart, as she hurriedly rose from her chair and clasped Danny in her
arms.
"Danny! Danny!" she cried, "you shall see the yellow birds, and the
stairs, and the chocolates on the dresser, and the pink lady will come
to-morrow with the big parcel."
Danny's little arms tightened around her neck.
"It's her," he shouted. "It's her."
When Mrs. Burton Francis went up to her sitting-room, a few hours
later to get the "satchel" powder to put in the box that was to be tied
with the store string, the sun was shining on the face of the Madonna

on the wall, and it seemed to smile at her as she passed.
The little red book lay on the table forgotten. She tossed it into the
waste-paper basket.
CHAPTER II
THE OLD DOCTOR
Close beside Mrs. Francis's comfortable home stood another large
house, weather-beaten and dreary looking, a house whose dilapidated
verandas and broken fence clearly indicated that its good days had gone
by. In the summer- time vines and flowers grew around it to hide its
scars and relieve its grimness, pathetic as a brave smile on a sad face.
Dr. Barner, brilliant, witty and skilful, had for many years been a
victim of intemperance, but being Scotch to the backbone, he never
could see how good, pure "Kilmarnock," made in Glasgow, could hurt
anyone. He knew that his hand shook, and his brain reeled, and his eyes
were bleared; but he never blamed the whiskey. He knew that his
patients sometimes died while he was enjoying a protracted drunk, but
of course, accidents will happen, and a doctor's accidents are soon
buried and forgotten. Even in his worst moments, if he could be
induced to come to the sick bed, he would sober up wonderfully, and
many a sufferer was relieved from pain and saved from death by his
gentle and skilful,