"I will take your place for a time, and will call Mrs. Yocomb if Mr. Morton needs anything." "I assure you I won't need anything as long as you'll stay," I began, as soon as we were alone. "I want to thank you for the rosebuds. They were taken away this morning; but I had them brought back and placed here where I could touch them. They seemed to bring back that June evening in the old garden so vividly that I've lived the scene over and over again." She looked perplexed, and colored slightly, but said smilingly, "Mrs. Yocomb will think I'm a poor nurse if I let you talk too much." "Then talk to me. I promise to listen as long as you will talk." "Well, mention an agreeable subject." "Yourself. What have you been doing in the ages that have elapsed since I came to life. It seems as if I had been dead, and I can't recall a thing that happened in that nether world. I only hope I didn't make a fool of myself." "I'm sorry to say you were too ill to do anything very bad. Mr. Morton, you can't realize how glad we all are that you are getting well so fast." "I hope I can't realize how glad YOU are, and yet I would like to think that you are very glad. Do you know what has done me the most good to-day?" "How should I know?" she asked, looking away, with something like trouble in her face. "I heard your laugh this morning while you were at breakfast, and it filled all the old house with music. It seemed to become a part of the sunshine that was shimmering on the elm-leaves that swayed to and fro before my window, and then the robins took it up in the garden. By the way, have you seen the robin's nest that Zillah showed us?" "Yes," she replied, "but it's empty, and the queer little things that Zillah said were all 'mouth and swallow' are now pert young robins, rollicking around the garden all day long. They remind me of Reuben and Dapple. I love such fresh young life, unshadowed by care or experience." "I believe you; and your sympathy with such life will always keep you young at heart. I can't imagine you growing old; indeed, truth is never old and feeble." "You are very fanciful, Mr. Morton," she said, with a trace of perplexity again on her face. "I have heard that that was a characteristic of sick people," I laughed. "Yes; we have to humor them like children," she added, smoothing her brow as if this were an excuse for letting me express more admiration than she relished. "Well," I admitted, "I've never been ill and made much of before, since I was a little fellow, and my mother spoiled me, and I've no idea how to behave. Even if I did, it would seem impossible to be conventional in this house. Am I not the most singularly fortunate man that ever existed? Like a fool I had broken myself down, and was destined to be ill. I started off as aimlessly as an arrow shot into the air, and here I am, enjoying your society and Mrs. Yocomb's care."