Caroline opened the door and showed him into the parlour, where Edith and Amy were eagerly awaiting him. "Happy New Year, Bertie," cried Amy. "And--but, why, where is William John?" "He couldn't come," answered Bertie anxiously--he was afraid he might not be welcome without William John. "He's real sick. He caught cold and has to stay in bed; but he wanted to come awful bad." "Oh, dear me! Poor William John!" said Amy in a disappointed tone. But all further remarks were cut short by the entrance of Doctor Forbes. "How do you do?" he said, giving Bertie's hand a hearty shake. "But where is the other little fellow my girls were expecting?" Bertie patiently reaccounted for William John's non-appearance. "It's a bad time for colds," said the doctor, sitting down and attacking the fire. "I dare say, though, you have to run so fast these days that a cold couldn't catch you. I suppose you'll soon be leaving Sampson's. He told me he didn't need you after the holiday season was over. What are you going at next? Have you anything in view?" Bertie shook his head sorrowfully. "No, sir; but," he added more cheerfully, "I guess I'll find something if I hunt around lively. I almost always do." He forgot his shyness; his face flushed hopefully, and he looked straight at the doctor with his bright, earnest eyes. The doctor poked the fire energetically and looked very wise. But just then the girls came up and carried Bertie off to display their holiday gifts. And there was a fur cap and a pair of mittens for him! He wondered whether he was dreaming. "And here's a picture-book for William John," said Amy, "and there is a sled out in the kitchen for him. Oh, there's the dinner-bell. I'm awfully hungry. Papa says that is my 'normal condition,' but I don't know what that means." As for that dinner--Bertie might sometimes have seen such a repast in delightful dreams, but certainly never out of them. It was a feast to be dated from. When the plum pudding came on, the doctor, who had been notably silent, leaned back in his chair, placed his finger-tips together, and looked critically at Bertie. "So Mr. Sampson can't keep you?" Bertie's face sobered at once. He had almost forgotten his responsibilities. "No, sir. He says I'm too small for the heavy work." "Well, you are rather small--but no doubt you will grow. Boys have a queer habit of doing that. I think you know how to make yourself useful. I need a boy here to run errands and look after my horse. If you like, I'll try you. You can live here, and go to school. I sometimes hear of places for boys in my rounds, and the first good one that will suit you, I'll bespeak for you. How will that do?" "Oh, sir, you are too good," said Bertie with a choke in his voice. "Well, that is settled," said the doctor genially. "Come on Monday then. And perhaps we can do something for that other little chap, William, or John, or whatever his name is. Will you have some more pudding, Bertie?"