ade him remember that this was a matter of honor between
him and me. I begged him to think of the situation he had placed me in,
for I feared the laugh of callous cynics as much as the cry of the
innocent child, but the ungrateful dead answered not."

Mr. Wrangler paused and touched his handkerchief to his eyes, while
Billy gazed at him in amazement, uncertain to what category of disease
his case should be assigned. "I don't know as I ever heard a queerer
tale than this," he said at length. "What did you do about it?"

"I'm doing now," answered Mr. Wrangler. "It is on a special mission that
I'm seeking you. Warlock, dear boy, you don't happen to have a bottle
of paregoric with you, do you, now?"

"Paregoric!" exclaimed Billy. "Why, is the child sick?"

"Hanged if I know!" Mr. Wrangler replied, with evident sincerity. "I'm
not what you'd call a connoisseur in infantile disorders, but I guess
she's sick. Anyhow, something's the matter. It may be malaria, or
chills, or measles, or whooping-cough, or Bright's disease. But whatever
it is, it keeps her very wakeful at night. It disturbs her rest sadly.
That might, perhaps, be overlooked; but as an intimate consequence it
also disturbs mine. At first I supposed it was because she did not get
enough nourishment, so, as she wouldn't drink any more milk from her
bottle, I bought a syringe, and filling it with milk, I played it down
the little darling's throat."

"Great Scott!" cried Billy, "it's a wonder she didn't choke to death!"

"Is it?" asked Mr. Wrangler innocently. "Well, to tell the truth, she
did come dev'lish near it, and so I inferred that I hadn't correctly
diagnosed the case. After she had got done coughing her spirits seemed
more than ever depressed. I went to bed in the vain hope that her supply
of tears would in time become exhausted. As the hours drew along and
that hope died away, I concluded she must have headache. I had one, and
I thought it only natural that she should, too. The question was, what
remedy should I apply? In a happy moment paregoric occurred to me. I
seemed indistinctly to remember that when I was a child paregoric did
the business. How fortunate one is, dear boy, in such moments as that to
have the memories of his boyhood to fall back on. I got up, dressed, and
went out to hunt a drug-store. Unfortunately, the only two I came across
were closed. I returned disconsolate, but as I entered I heard the sound
of your hammer and saw the glimmer