"His father?" said Philip Harris.

"Not his father. It must be someone he has never seen--no memories to
puzzle him--yet. But someone that he might have known always--all his
life."

"That is Miss Stone," said Philip Harris promptly.

"Does he know Miss Stone?" asked the surgeon.

Philip Harris shook his head. "No one knows Miss Stone," he said; "but
she is the friendliest person in all the world--when I get to heaven, I
hope Marcia Stone will be there to show me around--just to take the edge
off." He smiled a little.

"Well, she is the person we want--can she come?"

"She sits at home with her hands folded," said Philip Harris. He waited
a minute. "She was my little girl's friend," he said at last. "They were
always together.

"I remember--" The surgeon held out his hand. "Let her come. She will
be invaluable." His voice had a friendly ring. It was no longer a
millionaire that faced him--handing out cheques--but a father, like
himself. There were four of them at home, waiting on the stairs for him
to come at night--and he suddenly saw that Philip Harris was a brave
man--holding out for them all--waiting while the little fleck of grey
matter knit itself. He looked at him a minute keenly--"Why not come in
yourself, now and then," he said, "as he gets better? Later when you