bit of a
rest, until his insistent, "Sing more!" roused her from a
momentary dream.

The mother sat a little apart, but kept her eyes on her boy's
face, ready for instant service.

Several times the physician reached over to feel his patient's
pulse, and seemed satisfied with what he found.

So the night dragged by.

It was early dawn when Miss Price, in answer to the repeated call,
again fetched water, and, as before, the child refused it.

"Take away that nasty old hot stuff, and bring me some cold!" he
commanded, with a spurt of his usual lordliness.

The nurse gently urged him to taste it; but he only pushed the
spoon away.

Dr. Dudley was about to speak, when Polly interposed with the
first lines of "The Secret," a little song she had learned in
her last days of school. Her voice was loud enough to catch the
boy's attention, but the words were sung slowly and confidentially.

"What do you think is in our back yard?
P'rhaps you can guess, if you try real hard.
It is n't a puppy, or little white mice,
But it's something that's every bit as nice!
Oh, no, it's not chickens or kittens at all!"

She broke off, her eyes smilingly meeting Burton's.

"What is it?" he asked feebly.

"Take some of that," she replied, pointing to the cup, and I'll
sing "the rest."

He frowned at her, as she leaned back on the Doctor's shoulder.
In her attitude he saw nothing of hope, unless he complied with
her requirement. Without another protest he swallowed a few
spoonfuls of liquid.

"Can't you think what is soft and round and small?
It's two little--somethings, as white as snow!
_Two dear baby rabbits!_--there, now--you know!"

"Sing it again!" he begged.

Soon his eyelids dropped together, but as the song was ended he
opened them wide, with a silent appeal for more.

So the tired little girl sang the lullaby that had put him to
sleep early the day before. This time it did not have the
hoped-for effect, and the vesper hymn which David had sung--at
the bedtime hour which now seemed so very far away--came to the
singer's mind. Softly she began the tender little song, going
through it without a break.

At its close the boy lay quite still, and with a sight of relief
her bright head dropped on the pillowing shoulder.

The Doctor leaned forward, and listened. The lad's breathing was
soft and regular.

"Sound asleep at last! Now, Thistledown--a-h!" he gasped,
for Polly lay on his