Cherry too had been busy, and with Mrs. Seymour's direction had made him two brown holland pinafores which covered patches with clean neatness. "Oh, Dickie!" exclaimed his sister, kissing him impulsively, "I never did see you look so nice since before mother was ill." "That he does," said Meg, smiling. "Now brush his hair, dear, and then he can sit on your lap till I am ready." It was a mild, sunshiny day in April when Meg first walked into her sitting-room. Cherry had been busy making everything as cosy as she could devise, and Meg looked round with satisfaction. "You have been clever, Cherry," she said. "Mrs. Seymour says I shall be very useful if I take pains," answered Cherry, "and I have been trying very hard to, mother-Meg, because I do eat so much." Cherry said this with compunction, and Meg laughed a little. "Never mind that, dear. While I have been lying still I've been thinking of a lot of things you might do to get a little living." "Have you?" asked Cherry, sitting down by the fire with Dickie on her knee. "Yes; you might help mother with her washing sometimes; or you could learn to do nice needle-work. I mean to write to Mrs. MacDonald and ask her if she wants any done." "I did learn to work when I was at school," said Cherry. "You see, Cherry," pursued Meg, "it is not that we would not keep you altogether if you needed it, or it were right; but it will be much better and happier for you to have something to do; and then if you could earn enough to get some neat clothes and put a little by, how nice that would be." Dickie grew tired of this talk, and asked if his secret was going to be told. Meg took him on her lap, and as he nestled his soft curls against her, she explained to him that they must wait till father-Jem came home. Just as she was saying this the doctor's quick rap was heard at their door, and he entered at once. "I am late, Mrs. Seymour," he said; "but I waited till the pressure of my work was over, because I want to have a good look at this little fellow's eyes. Does he never try to use them?" "No," answered Meg; "he seems to dread the light so much." "I'm afraid--" said the doctor, glancing up at her and stopping short. Meg looked yearningly into the little face. "I think I was told he is not your own child?" "No," answered Meg; "they are our adopted children." "What puzzled me was that his sister said his name was Dickie Seymour." "So it is," said Meg, as if this were a new thought to her. "How strange I did not think of that; but he is no relation." "The best thing for him would be to go into the country," said the doctor, considering; "but I suppose that is out of the question. Even then I doubt if he will ever--" Meg looked at him startled. "Do you mean that I am going to lose him?" she asked, not knowing how to put it so that Dickie should not understand and be troubled.