"'Because, daddy," said the child--'because I think that soon I too may be a little angel, and I should so like to have my teddy-bear with me in heaven.' "Sir Christopher clasped her to his breast. How frail she was, how ethereal, how nearly an angel already! Would she have her teddy-bear in heaven? The childish question rang in his ears. Great, strong man though he was, he was weeping. His tears fell in a rain upon her auburn curls. "'Tell me, daddy,' she insisted, 'will dearest God allow me my teddy-bear?' "'My child,' he sobbed, 'my child . . .'" The blushes mounted hot to his cheeks; he turned away his head in horror. He would really have to look after himself for a bit, go to bed early, take exercise, not do much work. This sort of thing couldn't be allowed to go on. He went to bed at half-past nine that night, and woke up the following morning to find that he had added a dozen or more closely written pages to his original manuscript during the night. He supposed he must have written them in his sleep. It was all very disquieting. The days passed by; every morning a fresh instalment was added to the rapidly growing bulk of _Heartsease Fitzroy_. It was as though some goblin, some Lob-lie-by-the-Fire, came each night to perform the appointed task, vanishing before the morning. In a little while Dick's alarm wore off; during the day he was perfectly well; his mind functioned with marvellous efficiency. It really didn't seem to matter what he did in his sleep provided he was all right in his waking hours. He almost forgot about _Heartsease_, and was only reminded of her existence when by chance he opened the drawer in which the steadily growing pile of manuscript reposed. In five weeks _Heartsease Fitzroy_ was finished. Dick made a parcel of the manuscript and sent it to a literary agent. He had no hopes of any publisher taking the thing; but he was in sore straits for money at the moment, and it seemed worth trying, on the off-chance. A fortnight later Dick received a letter beginning: "DEAR MADAM,--Permit me to hail in you a new authoress of real talent. _Heartsease Fitzroy_ is GREAT,"--and signed "EBOR W. SIMS, Editor, _Hildebrand's Home Weekly_." Details of the circulation of _Hildebrand's Home Weekly_ were printed at the head of the paper; its average net sale was said to exceed three and a quarter millions. The terms offered by Mr. Sims seemed to Dick positively fabulous. And there would be the royalties on the thing in book form after the serial had run its course.