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, though trembling, hands. He might not be able to walk across
the room, but he coul