head at the Doctor and his
practice. "I'll come on with the baby." And with Teether still embraced
she strolled up the walk with Doctor Mayberry at her side. When they
reached the front steps she seated herself on the top one and slowly
lowered the drowsy little chap, until his head rested on her breast and
her arms held him cradlewise. She began a low husky humming as she
rocked herself to and fro, watching breathlessly the fringed lashes
sink over his wearied eyes, until they lay like shadows on the purple
circles beneath. She was utterly absorbed in getting Teether into a
comatose condition, and had neither eyes nor ears for the Doctor; not
that he claimed either.

He sat for some moments watching her and listening breathlessly to the
low music that came out through the wonderful throat, as if from some
master instrument with strings uncouthly muted. And as he looked, the
horrible thought clutched at his own heart. Suppose he should not be
able to free her voice for her! Many others had tried--the
greatest--and they had all been baffled by the strange stiffness of the
chords. He knew himself to be, in a way, her last resort. A world of
music lovers awaited the result. He had been obliged to send out two
Press bulletins as to her condition within the week--and she sat on the
steps in the twilight humming Teether Pike to sleep, shut in by the
Harpeth Hills with only him to fight her fight for her. He almost
groaned aloud with the pain of it, when into his consciousness came
Mother Mayberry's placid voice shooing the Pike children home with
promises and admonitions. A line from Doctor Stein's letter flashed
into his mind: "And first and above all I want your mother to put heart
and hope into the girl." The fight was not his alone, thank God, and he
knew just how much he could trust to his mother's heart-building. Why
not? Over the land men were learning to strengthen the man within
before attempting to cure the man without. Hadn't that always been his
mother's unconscious policy out on Harpeth Hills? A deep calm fell into
his troubled spirit and, as the singer lady and Mother escorted the
escort down the walk, he slipped away into his office for an hour
before supper with his reports and microscope.

A half hour later Mother Mayberry came into his office for the little
chat she often took the time for just before the summons to supper. She
seated herself by the open window, through which the twilight was
creeping, and