then he began to relate David's sayings, while Martha sewed fiercely,
and William stared at the hearth-rug "The little rascal is no Peter
Grievous," Dr Lavendar declared, proudly; and told a story of a badly
barked knee, and a very stiff upper-lip; "and the questions he asks!"
said the old man, holding up both hands; "theological questions; the
House of Bishops couldn't answer 'em!" He repeated some of the
questions, watching the husband and wife with swift glances over his
spectacles; when he had wrung a reluctant laugh from the doctor, and
Mrs., King was not sewing so fast, he went home, not much rested by
his call.

But the result of the call was that at the end of the week Dr. King
went up to the Stuffed Animal House.

"We are shipwrecked!" cried Mrs. Richie, as she saw him coming down
the garden path towards the barn. Her face was flushed and gay, and
her hair, shaken from its shining wreath around her head, hung in two
braids down her back. She had had a swing put up under the big
buttonwood beside the stable, and David, climbing into it, had clung
to the rigging to be dashed, side wise, on to the rocks of the
carriageway, where Mrs. Richie stood ready to catch him when the
vessel should drive near enough to the shore. In an endeavor to save
himself from some engulfing sea which his playmate had pointed out to
him, David had clutched at her, breaking the top hook of her gown and
tearing her collar apart, leaving throat, white and round, open to the
hot sun. Before the doctor reached her, she caught her dress together,
and twisted her hair into a knot. "You can't keep things smooth in a
shipwreck," she excused herself, laughing.

David sighed, and looked into the carriage-house. In that jungle--Mrs.