tle and hot, so clever, too,--he glanced at the open exer-
cise book on the piano. When he had stitched up the flax-
seed jacket, he wiped it neatly about the edges, where the
paste had worked out on the skin. He put on her the clean
nightgown he had warmed before the fire, and tucked the
blankets about her. As he pushed back the hair that had
fuzzed down over her eyebrows, he felt her head thought-
fully with the tips of his fingers. No, he couldn't say
that it was different from any other child's head, though
he believed that there was something very different about
her. He looked intently at her wide, flushed face, freckled
nose, fierce little mouth, and her delicate, tender chin--the
one soft touch in her hard little Scandinavian face, as if
some fairy godmother had caressed her there and left a
cryptic promise. Her brows were usually drawn together
defiantly, but never when she was with Dr. Archie. Her
affection for him was prettier than most of the things that
went to make up the doctor's life in Moonstone.

The windows grew gray. He heard a tramping on the
attic floor, on the back stairs, then cries: "Give me my
shirt!" "Where's my other stocking?"

"I'll have to stay till they get off to school," he reflected,
"or they'll be in here tormenting her, the whole lot of
them."