destroy it utterly. But there was no time for
that. As if from an electric shock, David had flounced over on
his side, and now he sprung bolt upright. Confused emotions
struggled in his face; his hands searched his blouse, and as they
failed to find what they were searching for, there came such a
look of terror into his eyes that Mother instantly produced the
miniature.

"Who is it, dear?" she asked.

With the same sort of agility which had come to him when he had
heard the Doctor's footstep on the stair, David seized the pieces
of porcelain, and with fumbling eagerness he slipped them back
into his blouse.

"It's mine!" he called out. He scowled fiercely, as though
expecting some one to dispute his claim.

"Where did you get it?"

"Up there," he said.

"Up where?"

Again the little boy was silent, but Mother insisted on more
definite information. Three times she asked how he had come into
possession of the picture before he would speak again. When he
did so he scowled more heavily than at first, and exclaimed:

"I won't not tell you!"

"But why, David; why not tell Mother about it?"

The child evaded a direct reply.

"Doctor will be mad at me," he said.

"Did he give it to you?"

The little boy nodded.

"Did he say you were not to tell me?"

Again the little boy nodded.

"Did he tell you who it was?"

Now that the wrong story was so well started, David was inspired
to make it a good one. To do that he would use part of the truth,
but unfortunately he could not recall much of what Dr. Redfield
had said about the picture. There was but one word that had stood
out prominently in the talk, and that was the word "Mother." It
was a relief to David to remember that, and he blurted out his
information with cruel finality.

"This," he said, holding the pieces of the miniature together,
"is mother."

"But how can you have two mothers?" Miss Eastman inquired, with a
smile that was not a good smile. "Tell me, David, tell me whose
mother am I?"

"You?" he asked with puzzled anxiety. Then he stopped short. It
is not easy to steal pictures and tell wrong stories about them.
He did not know what to do. Everything was against him, and he
began to cry again.

It was now that Miss Eastman passionately seized the little boy
in her arms.

"Don't you believe that!" she exclaimed, her words throbbing with
the hurt he had given her. "I am your mother, David--I!"

CHAPTER XI

APOTHEOSIS

After de