Only he could not teach them to be sanitary. He knew their names, their silly Russian names and their silly Polish names; he knew their Slavic and their Bohemian names, but their language he did not know, and all the hygiene they could learn was to call for him when sickness and trouble came to them. "Keep clean," he would say. "Drain your cellars; air out and keep clean; do try to keep clean!" But how could they do that? Four big families in one small house do not help much to keep one small house both clean and sanitary. Dr. Redfield knew that, and he swore at Duck Town for a vile and filthy hole. So did the people swear at Duck Town, and many of them suddenly stopped living there. For, despite the strength and courage of their champion; despite the potency of drugs; despite the sleepless nights and days spent in fighting disease, the deadly contagion grew and spread. Dr. Redfield had gone through epidemics before, but never one like this, and now his energy was gone. For the first time in his life the impulse had come upon him to own defeat and surrender. Other men, younger doctors than he, should take up the fight. As for him, he could not battle against such odds. He would give it up; he would go away. He would take this little boy with him and begin to live. "I'll do it," he said, pressing David's face against his hollow and unshaven cheek. "I'll do it, little boy; I will be your father." Then David asked encouragingly: "Is it your picture that Mother keeps in her heart?" "No, David; not mine, I'm afraid." This was a sad blow to the little boy. A very solemn look came into his face. "You won't do," he said, "unless you can get your picture into Mother's heart." For a second time Dr. Redfield smiled, and then he asked: "How did you get here?" David did not answer the question; perhaps he did not hear what was said to him. A thoughtful look had come into his face, and presently he was asking, with great earnestness in his voice: "Why have I got curls for? Why don't I have trouvers? Why don't I have warts on me?" Dr. Redfield was walking hand in hand with the little boy at his side. They were going toward the place where the horse and buggy stood waiting, and as they strode along the little boy kept falling over his chubby legs. It was hard for him to go so fast, for he was very tired, and besides, he was looking up into the man's face. "Warts aren't nice for little boys," said Dr. Redfield. "You and I don't want them on _us_, do we?"