life of me laugh at you. But you do look so strange!"

"I thought," Lockwin would say, "I loved you for your beauty, Davy, but
I guess it was for yourself."

"I guess you will love me better when I can play ball with the swear
boys, won't you, papa?"

"Yes, you must get strong. We will cut off your curls then."

"And may I sit in your library and write articles if I will be very
still and not get mud on me? They throwed mud on me once, papa."

Poor little swollen-eyed Davy! Yet richer than almost any other living
thing in Chicago. None knew him but to love him. "I didn't think it
would hit him," said even the barbarian who shied the clod at Davy.

When Esther Lockwin took charge of that home she found Davy all issued
from the chrysalis of sores and swellings. If he had once been
beautiful, he was now more lovely. The union of intelligence,
affection, and seemliness was startling to Esther's mind.

It was a dream. It knit her close to her husband. The child talked of
his papa all day. Because his new mother listened so intently, he
found less time to write his articles, and no time at all out-doors.

"Don't let him study if you can help it," said Dr. Floddin.

The child stood at his favorite place in the window, waiting for old
Richard Tarbelle to come home.