The Clarion | Page 7

sorry if I did?"
"Yes. If you died you couldn't like me any more. And I want everybody
to like me and think me pretty."
"I'm glad I'm not. It would be tough on Dad."
"My Uncle Guardy thinks your father is a bad man," said the fairy, not
without a spice of malice.
Up rose the patient from his pillow. "Then I hate him. He's a liar. My
Dad is the best man in the world." A brighter hue than fever burnt in his
cheeks, and his hand went to his shoulder. "I won't have his bandages
on me," he cried.
But she had thrown herself upon his arm, and pushed him back. "Oh,
don't! Please don't," she besought. "Uncle Guardy told me to keep you
perfectly quiet. And I've made you sit up--"

"What's all this commotion?" demanded Dr. Elliot brusquely, from the
door.
"You said my father was a bad man," cried the outraged patient.
"Lie back, youngster." The physician's hand was gentle, but very firm.
"I don't recall saying any such thing. Where did you get it?"
"I said you thought he was a bad man," declared the midget girl. "I
know you do. You wouldn't have spoken back to him down in the
square if you hadn't."
Her uncle turned upon her a slow, cool, silent regard. "Esmé, you talk
too much," he said finally. "I'm a little ashamed of you, as a nurse.
Take your place there by the bedside. And you, young man, shut your
ears and eyes and go to sleep."
Hardly had the door closed behind the autocrat of the sick-room, when
his patient turned softly.
"You're crying," he accused.
"I'm not!" The denial was the merest gasp. The long lashes quivered
with tears.
"Yes, you are. He was mean to you."
"He's never mean to me." The words came in a sobbing rush. "But
he--he--stopped loving me just for that minute. And when anybody I
love stops loving me I want to die!"
The boy's brown hands crept timidly to her arm. "I like you awfully,"
he said. "And I'll never stop, not even for a minute!"
"Won't you?" Again she was the child coquette. "But we're going away
to-night. Perhaps you won't see me any more."
"Oh, yes, I shall. I'll look for you until I find you."

"I'll hide," she teased.
"That won't matter, little girl." He repeated the form softly and drowsily.
"Little girl; little girl; I'd do anything in the world for you, little girl, if
ever you asked me. Only don't go away while I'm asleep."
Back of them the door had opened quietly and Professor Certain, who,
with Dr. Elliot, had been a silent spectator of the little drama, now
closed it again, withdrawing, on the further side, with his companion.
"He'll sleep now," said the physician. "That's all he needs. Hello!
What's this?"
In a corner of the sofa was a tiny huddle, outlined vaguely as human,
under a faded shawl. Drawing aside the folds, the quack disclosed a
wild little face, framed in a mass of glowing red hair.
"That Hardscrabbler's young 'un," he said. "She was crying quietly to
herself, in the darkness outside the jail, poor little tyke. So I picked her
up, and" (with a sort of tender awkwardness) "she was glad to come
with me. Seemed to kind of take to me. Kiddies generally do."
"Do they? That's curious."
"I suppose you think so," replied the quack, without rancor.
"What are you going to do with her?"
"I'll see, later. At present I'm going to keep her here with us. She's only
seven, and her mother's dead. Are you staying here to-night?"
"Got to. Missed my connection."
"Then at least you'll let me pay your hotel bill, if you won't take my
money."
"Why, yes: I suppose so," said the other grudgingly. "I'll look at the boy
in the morning. But he'll be all right. Only, don't take up your
itinerating again for a few days."

"I'm through, I tell you. Give me a growing city to settle in and I'll go
in for the regular proprietary manufacturing game. Know anything
about Worthington?"
"Yes."
"Pretty good, live town?"
"First-class, and not too critical, I suppose, to accept your business,"
said Dr. Elliot dryly. "I'm on my way there now for a visit. Well, I must
get my little girl."
The itinerant opened the door, looked, and beckoned. The boy lay on
his pillow, the girl was curled in her chair, both fast asleep. Their hands
were lightly clasped.
Dr. Elliot lifted his ward and carried her away. The itinerant, returning
to the Hardscrabbler girl, took her out to arrange the night's
accommodation for her. So, there slept that night under one roof and at
the charge of Professor Andrew L. Certain,