u are fond of the little fellow?"

"Oh, I see him playing around my gate," Mr. Smith said, and walked off
quickly, lest he should find himself urging more advice, or a nurse, or
what not. "King would wonder what earthly difference it could make to
me!" he said to himself, in a panic of secrecy. It made enough
difference to cause him to write to his daughter: "I hear the child is
very sick and may die. Congratulations to Robertson."

Mary, reading the cruel words and never guessing the anxiety which had
dictated them, grew white with anger. "I will never forgive father!"
she said to herself, and went over to her husband and put her soft hands
on his shoulders and kissed him.

"Carl," she said, "the--the little boy is sick"; his questioning look
made her add, "Oh, he'll get well"--but she must have felt some unspoken
recoil in her husband, for she cried out, in quick denial, "Of course I
don't want anything to--to happen to him!"

They did not speak of Johnny's illness for two or three days; then Mary
said, "If anything had happened, we should have heard by this time?"

And Carl said, "Oh, of course."

When Johnny was well again his grandfather's fear that Doctor King might
"wonder," ebbed. "It's safe enough to take him," he said to himself; "he
doesn't look like anybody. And if I adopt him I can see that he's
properly educated--and it will scare Robertson to death!" he added,
viciously, and showed his teeth. He even discussed adopting his
grandchild with Doctor Lavendar:

"Mary hasn't done her duty," he said. "I've no grandchildren! I've a
great mind to adopt some youngster. I'm fond of children."

"Good idea," said Doctor Lavendar.

"I've taken a fancy to that little rascal who lives just at my gate.
Bright youngster. Not a cowardly streak in him! Quick-tempered, I'm
afraid. But _I_ never blame anybody for that! I've thought, once or
twice, that I'd adopt him."

"And Miss Lydia, too?" Doctor Lavendar inquired, mildly.

"Oh, I should look after her, of course," said Mr. Smith. But it was
still another six months before he really made up his mind. "I'll do
it!" he said to himself. "But I suppose," he reflected, "I ought to tell
Mary--and the skunk."

He went on to Philadelphia for the purpose of telling Mary, but he did
it when Carl was not present.

Mary blenched. "Father, _don't_! People might--"

"Damn people! I like the boy. You're a coward, Mary, and so
is--Robertson."

"No! He isn't! Carl isn't. I