antagonism; only the placid commonplace of goodness and affection.
Helena could not remember such an evening in all her life. And the
friendship between youth and age was something she had never dreamed
of. She saw David slip from his chair at table, and run around to Dr.
Lavendar's side to reach up and whisper in his ear,--oh, if he would
but put his cheek against hers, and whisper in her ear!

The result of that secret colloquy was that David knelt down in front
of the dining-room fire, and made a slice of smoky toast for Dr.
Lavendar.

"After supper you might roast an apple for Mrs. Richie," the old
minister suggested. And David's eyes shone with silent joy. With
anxious deliberation he picked out an apple from the silver wire
basket on the sideboard; and when they went into the study, he
presented a thread to Mrs. Richie.

"Tie it to the stem," he commanded. "You're pretty slow," he added
gently, and indeed her white fingers blundered with the unaccustomed
task. When she had accomplished it, David wound the other end of the
thread round a pin stuck in the high black mantel-shelf. The apple
dropped slowly into place before the bars of the grate, and began--as
everybody who has been a child knows--to spin slowly round, and then,
slowly back again. David, squatting on the rug, watched it in silence.
But Mrs. Richie would not let him be silent. She leaned forward, eager
to touch him--his shoulders, his hair, his cheek, hot with the fire.

"Won't you come and sit in my lap?"

David glanced at Dr. Lavendar as though for advice; then got up and