up
to the infinitesimal dimension of a pea in a bushel-basket. He led the
flea-bitten mare to the cherry tree and tied her there. "If you bark
that tree I 'll tan you alive," said Lawrence hoarsely, to the
champing, frisky creature, for now he hated all animal life from Dr.
Parley down, down, down even to the flea-bitten mare. Then, miserable
and nervous, Lawrence returned to the arm-chair under the fig
tree--and, how wretched he was!

Pretty soon he heard a merry treble voice piping out: "Is ze gockter
tum to oo house?" and Lawrence saw little Martha toddling toward him.
Little Martha was Mistress Dandridge's baby girl. The Dandridges lived
a short way beyond the oak grove, and little Martha loved to visit
Uncle Lawrence and Aunt Mary, as she called Lawrence and his wife.

"Yes, Martha," said Lawrence, sadly, "the doctor's come."

"Ain't oo glad ze gockter's tum?" asked the child, anxiously, for she
recognized the weary tone of Lawrence's voice.

"Oh, yes," he answered, quickly and with an effort at cheerfulness, "I
'm glad he 's come. Ha, ha!"

"Is oo doing to have oo toof pulled?" she inquired, artlessly.

Lawrence shook his head.

"No, little one," said he, in a melancholy voice, "I wish I was."

Then Martha wanted to know whether the doctor had brought his
saddlebags, and when Lawrence answered in the affirmative a summer of
sunshine seemed to come into the child's heart and burst out over her
pretty face.

"Oh, I know!" she cried, as she clapped her fat little hands. "Ze
gockter has bwought oo a itty baby!"

Now Martha's innocence, naivete, and exuberance rather pleased
Lawrence. In fact, Martha was the only human being in all the world
who had treated Lawrence with any kind of consideration that February
morning, and all at once Lawrence felt his heart warm and go out toward
the prattling child.

"Come here, little Martha," said he, kindly, "and let me hold you on my
knee. Who told you about the--about the--the baby, eh?"

"Mamma says ze gockter _allers_ brings itty babies in his sagglebags.
Do oo want a itty baby, Uncle Lawrence?"

"Yes, Martha, I do," said he, kissing her, "and I want a little girl
just like you."

Now Martha had guessed at the event, and her guess was eminently
correct. Lawrence had told the truth, too; it was a little girl he
wanted--not one that looked like Martha, perhaps--one that looked like
his Mary would please him most. So the two talked together, and
Lawre