nson whispered. "I'm a bit
afraid of bronchitis."

Derry's voice lacked sympathy. "I shouldn't worry, Bronson. He
usually comes around all right."

"Yes, sir. I hope so, sir," and Bronson's spare figure rose to a
portentous shadow, as he preceded Derry to the door.

On the threshold he said, "Dr. Richards has gone to the front. Shall I
call Dr. McKenzie if we need someone--?"

"Has he been left in charge?"

"Yes, sir."

Derry stood for a moment undecided. "I suppose there's no reason why
you shouldn't call McKenzie. Do as you think best, Bronson."

On his way to his own room, Derry paused for a moment at the head of
the great stairway. His mother's picture hung on the landing. The
dress in which she was painted had been worn to a dinner at the White
House during the first Cleveland Administration. It was of white
brocade, with its ostrich feather trimming making it a rather regal
robe. It had tight sleeves, and the neck was square. Around her
throat was a wide collar of pearls with diamond slides. Her fair hair
was combed back in the low pompadour of the period, and there were
round flat curls on her temples. The picture was old-fashioned, but
the painted woman was exquisite, as she had always been, as she would
always be in Derry's dreams.

The great house had given to the General's wife her proper setting.
She had trailed her satins and silks up and down the marble stairway.
Her slender hands, heavy with their rings, had rested on its
balustrade, its mirrors had reflected the diamond tiara with which the
General had crowned her. In the vast drawing room, the gold and jade
and ivory treasures in the cabinets had seemed none too fine for this
greatest treasure of them all. In the dining room the priceless
porcelains had been cheapened by her greater worth. The General had
travelled far and wide, and he had brought the wealth of the world to
lay at the feet of his young wife. He adored her and he adored her son.

"It is just you and me, Derry," the old man had said in the first
moment of bereavement; "we've got to stick it out together--"

And they had stuck it out until the war had come, and patriotism had
flared, and the staunch old soldier had spurned this--changeling.

It seemed to Derry that if his mother could only step down from the
picture she might make things right for him. But she would not step
down. She would go on smiling her gentle painted smile as if nothing
really matter