“It isn't exactly a fashionable practice, the Little Red Doctor's. Is it, dominie?” “No. But poor--certainly not, by the standards of Our Square. He has a new black suit for professional service every year.” “Um!” said the fairy doubtfully. Then, after a pause, “He could have been rich, you know.” “Could he?” said the Bonnie Lassie, holding her iron poised over the shadow of a flying dimple. “An invention. Something to do with his surgery,” explained the girl. “Father said there were big possibilities in it. He offered to finance it himself. But he--the Lit--Dr. Smith wouldn't even take out a patent on it.” The Bonnie Lassie lowered her weapon. “Do you mean the pressure brace for atrophy?” “Yes,” said the girl, surprised. “How do you know about it?” “Cyrus's uncle--he's Dr. Hardaman, the great orthopedic surgeon--says that there are thousands of children walking to-day who owe their legs to that brace of the Little Red Doctor's.” “You never told any of us about that!” I cried. “No,” she answered composedly. “It seemed to make the Little Red Doctor uncomfortable when Cyrus spoke of it. So we kept it quiet.” “You see, he might really have made a fortune by patenting it,” said the brown-and-gold fairy. “That is what I asked Uncle Charles. He said that physicians, the best type, don't take out patents. You see, the patent would have made the brace cost more, and the more it cost the fewer people could buy it, and that would mean more children who ought to have walked and couldn't. And, oh, my dear! if you could see the poor, pitiful, wee things as we see them in Our Square, withered and hobbling like old, worn-out folk --” “Don't! Don't!” cried the girl. “I--I never thought of it that way.” “Why should you? But the Little Red Doctor would.” “Yes, but he didn't explain it that way,” said the brown-and-gold fairy miserably. “He said something stupid about ethics, and I said something I didn't mean--and,”--her head drooped,--“and that was our last quarrel.” “And you loved him all the time, and still do,” said the Bonnie Lassie gently. “I didn't! I don't!” denied the brown-and-gold fairy vehemently. “Then why have you come down here?” demanded the inexorable sculptress. “Because,” said the fairy in a fairy's whisper, “I--I just wanted to see him again. All the other men are so _alike_.” “Yes; yes, I know,” said the Bonnie Lassie and threw an arm over her shoulder, and gave me a swift and wordless command to go away and be quick about it.