"Not at all," responded the girl. "On the contrary, it would be sadly
incomplete without you--"

"Say," broke in the youngster, "growed-up folks don't git tings off de
tree, does dey?"

Both Constance and the doctor laughed at the obvious fear in the boy's
mind.

"No, Swot," the man replied; "and I've had my Christmas gift from Miss
Durant already."

"Wot wuz dat?"

"Ask her," replied Dr. Armstrong, as he walked away.

"Wot have youse guv 'im?"

Constance laughed, and blushed still more deeply, as, after a slight
pause, she replied, "It's my turn, Swot, to say 'rubber'?" This said, she
stooped impulsively and kissed the boy's forehead. "You are a dear, Swot,"
she asserted, warmly.

With the mooting of the Christmas tree, the interest in Old Sleuth
markedly declined, being succeeded by innumerable surmises of the rapidly
convalescing boy as to the probable nature and number of the gifts it
would bear. In this he was not discouraged by Miss Durant, who, once the
readings were discontinued, brought a bit of fancy-work for occupation.