They went to a shoe shop, and Bob became the richer for
leather sandals, canvas shoes, and various other footwear,
some of it undeniably fine. Burns took one little black
slipper into his hand.

"I wonder what Bob's grandmother would say to that," he
observed in a whisper.

Ellen Lessing regarded its mate. Her lashes hid her eyes, but
her lip quivered and he saw it. The salesman was busy with
Bob. Burns laid his hand for an instant on hers. She looked
up, and a smile struggled with the tears.

A toy shop came last. Here Bob was in an ecstasy. His
companions walked up and down the aisles, following his eager
steps. Mrs. Lessing would have filled his arms, but she found
the way obstructed.

"He may have the train of cars," Burns consented. "But they
must be cars he'll have to pull about for himself. No, not
the trotting horse, nor the trolley on the track, nor any
other of the mechanical stuff. I'll get him that dandy little
tool-chest and that box of building blocks, but that's
enough."

"The mechanical toys are of the best, sir," suggested the
salesman. "They won't break except with pretty rough
handling."