And thus deserted, the flush rose up under Miss Wingate's eyes and a
dimple teased at the corner of her red lips, but she busied herself
with removing the plate from under Martin Luther's yellow mop and
making a pillow of her own bare arm, against which he nestled his
chubby little cheek with a sigh of content, as he drifted off into
his usual after-dinner nap.

The Doctor watched her from under his half-closed eyes, then he lit
a cigarette, leaned his elbow on the table and sat silent for a few
moments, while under her breath she hummed a little sleep song to
the drifting baby.

"On the whole," he asked at last, the usual delightful courtesy with
which he always addressed her striving with an unusual trace of
gentle banter in his deep voice, "what do you think of Mother's
philosophies?"

"I think," she answered as she ruffled the baby's curls with one
white hand, "they are so true that no wonder they are--are more
healing than--than your medicines."

She raised her eyes to his suddenly and they were filled to the brim
with frank merriment.

"Don't tell me I'm going to lose my one and only star patient,
Teether Pike and the puppy excepted!" he exclaimed with a laugh.

"Yes," she answered slowly, "I'm going to let you operate when the
time comes--but it's your Mother that's healing me. Oh, can't you,
can't you see what she's doing for me?" she turned to him and asked