did not share with anybody, but they resulted in a sort of intimacy,
which Helena, eager for the child, could not refuse.

"He needs clothes," Dr. Lavendar put her off; "I can't let him visit
you till Mary gets his wardrobe to rights."

"Oh, let me get his little things."

--Now, who would have supposed that Dr. Lavendar was so deep! To begin
with, he was a man, and an old man, at that; and with never a chick or
a child of his own. How did he know what a child's little clothes are
to a woman?--"Well," he said, "suppose you make him a set of night-
drawers."

Helena's face fell. "I don't know how to sew. I thought I could buy
what he needed."

"No; he has enough bought things, but if you will be so kind, my dear,
as to make--"

"I will!" she promised, eagerly, and Dr. Lavendar said he would bring
David up to be measured.

Her sewing was a pathetic blunder of haste and happiness; it brought
Dr. Lavendar and David up to the Stuffed Animal House very often, "to
try on." David's coming was always a delight, but the old man fretted
her, somehow;--he was so good. She said so to William King, who
laughed at the humor of a good woman's objection to goodness. The
incongruity of such a remark from her lips was as amusing as a child's
innocently base comment.