long while. So little, so old a human
face he had never seen. The brow
was wrinkled as with centuries of pain,
and the little drawn mouth looked as
though the spirit within had fought
its inheritance without a murmur, and
would fight on that way to the end. It
was the pluck of the face that drew
Grayson. ``I'll take it,'' he said. The
doctor was not without his sense of humor
even then, but he nodded. ``Cradle and
all,'' he said, gravely. And Grayson put
both on one shoulder and walked away.
He had lost the power of giving further
surprise in that town, and had he met
every man he knew, not one of them
would have felt at liberty to ask him
what he was doing. An hour later the
doctor found the child in Grayson's
room, and Grayson still looking at it.

``Is it going to live, doctor?''

The doctor shook his head. ``Doubtful.
Look at the color. It's starved.
There's nothing to do but to watch it
and feed it. You can do that.''

So Grayson watched it, with a
fascination of which he was hardly