after a pause, "if dere's anyting on de tree dat Ise don't cares for, can
Ise give it to de doc?"

"Certainly. Or better still, if you'll find out what he would like, I'll
let you make him a present."

"Youse payin' for it?" anxiously questioned the boy.

"Of course."

"Dat's Jim Dandy!"

Miss Durant recurred to this offer twice in the succeeding week, but to
her surprise, found Swot's apparent enthusiasm over the gift had entirely
cooled, and his one object was a seeming desire to avoid all discussion of
it.

"Don't you want to give him something, or haven't you found out what he
wants?" she was driven to ask.

"Oh, dat's all right. Don't youse tire youself 'bout dat," was his
mysterious reply. Nor could she extract anything more satisfactory.

It was a very different Swot McGarrigle who was helped into Miss Durant's
carriage by the doctor on Christmas eve from the one who had been lifted
out at the hospital some six weeks before. The wizened face had filled out
into roundness, and the long-promised new clothes, donned for the first
time in honor of the event, even more transformed him; so changed him, in
fact, that Constance hesitated for an instant in her welcome, in doubt if
it were he.