“I hate you, you nasty nurse,” said little Piers, “and I hate you, too, Dr. Tarbot. I want Dick to come to me—Dick or Barbara, but I would rather have Dick. Do send Dick to me, mother. He ought to come, oughtn’t he, when the king wants him?” “I don’t think you should have visitors at present,” said Tarbot. “I wish you to stay quiet and to do what Nurse Ives says.” “Oh, I’m not going to obey her,” said the child. “I hate nurses. I want Dick. Please, mother, send for Dick!” The doctor began to examine the boy, tapping the little chest, listening to his breathing, taking his temperature, feeling his pulse. “You’ll be better soon,” he said, when he stood up after making his examination. “I’ll send you some fresh medicine; you need not take any more of that bitter stuff. Nurse, I will give you some directions in the other room. Piers, listen to me—you must stay in bed.” “No, I won’t,” said the boy. “I’m going to get up.” “You’ll stay in bed, my boy, because I order it,” said Tarbot in a determined voice. The boy gazed at him out of his great black eyes. “You order it?” he said slowly. “I didn’t think anybody could order Sir Piers Pelham.” “And why not?” “Oh, because—because I’m rich,” said the child, “and I”—he gazed round him in a puzzled way—“I’m great. I’ll be a _very_ great man when I’m grown up. I was telling nurse about it. I was telling her that I’d have heaps of money. I shall have everything my own way. I’ll be a sort of king. The king can do no wrong. That’s a beautiful proverb, isn’t it? I’m going to have it illuminated and put over the mantelpiece. I’m the king and I can do no wrong, and I wish to get up, and I _will_. You can’t keep me in bed, nor can nurse.” “You may be a great king, or autocrat, or whatever you like to call it,” said Tarbot, “but you have got to obey me now because I am your doctor. Nurse, I must speak to you. I will see you afterwards in the drawing-room, Mrs. Pelham.” The doctor and the nurse left the room. The nurse was absent about five minutes. She came back looking quiet and calm. She went and stood by little Piers’s bed. The mother was at the other side. “I think the doctor would like to speak to you, madam,” said the nurse. Mrs. Pelham left the room. She went down-stairs. Tarbot was waiting for her, standing with his back to the mantelpiece. As soon as Mrs. Pelham came in he began to speak. “I don’t like the condition of the child.” She clasped her hands, and a look of terror came into her face. “I have discovered that there is real cardiac mischief.” “What is that?” asked Mrs. Pelham. “The child’s heart is seriously affected.” The mother uttered a cry. “I shall call in Dr. Williamson to-morrow. He is a great authority on such cases. We must take his advice.” Mrs. Pelham sat down on the nearest chair and burst into tears. “You might send for the child’s cousin,” said Tarbot. “What cousin?” “Dick Pelham—he is fond of him. Anything reasonable ought to be granted to the boy at present.”