she was only longer. Sometimes he stretched her on the floor, pulling
her legs out straight, for she had a silly way of doubling them up, and
then he measured her carefully with his mother's old boots. Her growth
proved to be distressingly irregular, as one day she seemed to have
grown an inch since last night, and then next day she had shrunk two
inches.

After her day's work Mrs. Sandys was now so listless that, had not Tommy
interfered, Elspeth would have been a backward child. Reddy had been
able to walk from the first day, and so of course had he, but this
little slow-coach's legs wobbled at the joints, like the blade of a
knife without a spring. The question of questions was How to keep her on
end?

Tommy sat on the fender revolving this problem, his head resting on his
hand: that favorite position of mighty intellects when about to be
photographed, Elspeth lay on her stomach on the floor, gazing earnestly
at him, as if she knew she was in his thoughts for some stupendous
purpose. Thus the apple may have looked at Newton before it fell.

Hankey, the postman, compelled the flowers in his window to stand erect
by tying them to sticks, so Tommy took two sticks from a bundle of
firewood, and splicing Elspeth's legs to them, held her upright against
the door with one hand. All he asked of her to-day was to remain in this
position after he said "One, two, three, four, _picture_!" and withdrew
his hand, but down she flopped every time, and he said, with scorn,

"You ain't got no genius: you has just talent."

But he had her in bed with the scratches nicely covered up before his