Dr. Alton bent over Cyrus and kissed him good night. "Yes, but he wouldn't dare--unless his congregation consisted of empty boys." The father's diagnosis was correct: his treatment a success. During that short half hour the patient had been converted from a terrified sinner to a hopeful gourmand. The anxious look had left his eyes. The lips were smiling. And that night, instead of fitful wakings interspersed with dreams of hell and Hebrew prophets, of death, damnation and eternal punishment, he slept a solid, tranquil sleep. And such dreams as came were happy dreams. He dreamed of puddings of the richest kind, of turkeys all stuffed and ready; of various pies, of custard, of pastry, and of ice cream, all of which he ate, and ate--and ate. And lying flat upon his stomach on a sponge-cake raft he floated in a sea of pineapple sherbet. He would bite off edges of the raft, then, with his whole face in the boundless ocean, he would suck up long gulps of this divine material. And his permanent residence was in a cocoanut palace against a mountain of vanilla ice cream. When morning came, and he awoke and sat up in bed, he was himself again. In the sunshine of his room the bottomless pit had lost its menace. His spirit, refreshed by slumber and now guided by his nose, ignored the fires of Purgatory and was hovering over the more friendly heat of Joanna's kitchen stove. A few days later, when he was curled up at one end of the sofa with a book, he asked: "What is the transmigration of souls?" [Illustration: "A COCOANUT PALACE AGAINST A MOUNTAIN OF VANILLA ICE CREAM"--_Page 114_] Dr. Alton explained. Then Cyrus, after a good look into the face of the dog beside him: "Whose soul do you suppose is in Zac?" "That's a hard one, Cyrus. I could only guess at it." "But it means for dogs, too, doesn't it?" "It certainly ought. I shouldn't accept it unless it did." "Then I say that whatever soul came into Zac was the soul of a mighty good man." "Yes--no doubt about that." "Just think! Zac may be George Washington!" "Well--you can't be too sure. You have all the good people in history to choose from, you know." "Yes, of course. I guess, after all, he isn't George Washington. He is quicker and jumps about more." Then after another look into the dog's adoring face: "Besides, I don't believe any great man in history would be so awful fond of me as Zac is." "Oh, he might be. Washington would have liked you, I think; although he might not have followed you about so closely." Other famous men were mentioned: the Emperor Augustus, Magellan, Shakespeare, Daniel Boone and Fenimore Cooper--also Joan of Arc. But it was agreed by both father and son that the best known characteristics of those persons were not sufficiently obvious in Zac to make a clear case. [Illustration] VII TOWARD THE LIGHT The snow lay deep--and still it fell.