"'Dumb,' Dicky," she said. "You understand? Doesn't speak?" Dicky looked at his Mother. He looked at Carol. A little pucker came and blacked itself between his eyebrows. As though to toss the pucker away he tossed back his whole head and ran to Tiger Lily and threw his arms around Tiger Lily's neck. "Doesn't----EVER?" he said. "Doesn't ever--what?" said our Uncle Peter. "Sleep?" said Dicky. "It was the boy we were talking about," laughed his Mother. "Not the doggie." She tried to put her arms around him. He wiggled right out of them and ran back to Tiger Lily. "Is it his adenoids?" he cried. "Have you had his eyes tested? How do you know but what it's his teeth?" "Whose teeth?" frowned our Uncle Peter. "Tiger Lily's!" cried Dicky. His Mother made a sorry sound in her throat. "Poor Dicky," she said. "He's had most everything done to him!--Tonsils,--spine,--eyes,--ears,--teeth!--Why the last Doctor I saw was almost positive that the Insomnia was due entirely to--" In the very middle of what it was due to she turned to our Uncle Peter. Her voice got very private. Our Uncle Peter had to stoop his head to hear it. He had a proud head. It didn't stoop very easily. "He isn't my own little boy," she whispered. As though his ears were magic the little boy looked up and grinned. His eyes looked naughty. "Nobody's own little boy," he said. "Nobody's own little boy!" As though it was a song without any tune he began to sing it. "Nobody's--Nobody's own little boy!" The Lady tried to stop him. He struck at her with his feet. It made a hurt on her arm. He snatched Tiger Lily by the collar and started for the door. "Going to find Cook and get a bone!" he said. He said it like a boast. He slammed the door behind him. It made a rude noise. He came running back and looked a little sorry, but mostly bashful. He pointed at Tiger Lily. "What--What's HE afraid of?" he said. "Noises," I explained. "Noises?" cried the little boy. He cried it with a sort of a hoot. It sounded scornful. "Oh pshaw!" he said. "There isn't a noise in the world that I'm afraid of! Not thunder! Not guns! Not ANYTHING! Noises are my friends! In the night I take torpedoes and crack 'em on the hearth just to hear them sputter! I've got three tin pans tied on a string! I've got a pop-gun!" He ran back to the table to get the gun. It was a nice gun. It was painted bright blue. It looked loud. When Tiger Lily saw it he dove under the bed. It was hard to get him out. The little boy looked very astonished. "It's gun-bangs--specially--that Tiger Lily is afraid of," I explained. "Gun-bangs?" said the little boy. "That's why he can't ever hunt," I explained.