"Can I go up-stairs like a crocodile?" said David.

"Certainly, if it affords you the slightest personal satisfaction,"
Dr. Lavendar told him; and while the little boy crawled laboriously on
his stomach all the way up-stairs, Dr. Lavendar talked about him. He
said he thought the child had been homesick just at first; he had
missed his sister Janey. "He told me 'Janey' gave him 'forty kisses'
every night," said Dr. Lavendar; "I thought that told a story--" At
that moment the crocodile, holding a handkerchief between his teeth,
came rapidly, head foremost, down-stairs. Dr. Lavendar raised a
cautioning hand;--"Mustn't talk about him, now!"

There was a quality in that evening that was new to Helena; it was
dull, of course;--how very dull Lloyd would have found it! A childlike
old man asking questions with serious simplicity of a little boy who
was full of his own important interests and anxieties;--the feeding of
Danny, and the regretful wonder that in heaven, the little dog would
not be "let in."

"Who said he wouldn't?" Dr. Lavendar demanded, fiercely, while Danny
yawned with embarrassment at hearing his own name.

"You read about heaven in the Bible," David said, suddenly shy; "an'
it said outside were dogs;--an' some other animals I can't remember
the names of."

Dr. Lavendar explained with a twinkle that shared with his visitor the
humor of those "other animals" itemized in the Revelations. It was a
very mild humor; everything was mild at the Rectory; the very air
seemed gentle! There was no apprehension, no excitement, no