you'd graft tulips. And more than once, I've--I've caught her crying and
I've thought perhaps ...

PETER. [_Pooh-poohing._] Crying? Of course! Was there ever a girl who
didn't cry?... You amuse me ... with your ideas of life.... Ha! Haven't I
asked her why she was crying,--and hasn't she always said: "I don't know
why--it's nothing." They love to cry. [_Signs the last letter._] But
that's what they all cry over--nothing. James, do you know how I happened
to meet Katie? She was prescribed for me by Doctor MacPherson.

JAMES. [_Taking the letter._] Prescribed?

PETER. As an antidote. I was growing to be a fussy bachelor, with queer
notions. You are young, but see that you don't need the Doctor, James. Do
you know how I was cured? I'll tell you. One day, when I had business in
the city, the Doctor went with me, and before I knew what he was at--he
had marched me into a home for babies.... Katie was nearest the door--the
first one. Pinned over her crib was her name: "Catherine Staats, aged
three months." She held out her little arms ... so friendless--so
pitiful--so alone--and I was done for. We brought her back home, the
Doctor, a nurse and I. The first time I carried her up those stairs--all
my fine bachelor's ideas went out of my head. I knew then that my theories
were all humbug. I had missed the child in the house who was to teach me
everything. I had missed many children in my house. From that day, I
watched over her life. [_Rising, pointing towards the head of the
stairs._] James, I was born in this house--in the little room where I
sleep; and her children shall one day play in the room in which I was
born.... That's very pretty, eh? [_Wipes his eyes, sentimentally._] I've
always seen it that way.