“And shortly come to spectacles. Try it yourself for half an hour.” She drew off the reefer. Bob objected. “I like the red jacky, Dotter Burns,” he said. It was his first comment. Hitherto he had been in a dazed state, submitting wonderingly to this strange experience. Another small coat of tan-coloured cloth with a gorgeous red-and-brown emblem on the sleeve consoled him: “I think we are through,” said Mrs. Lessing Burns looked at her. “No white clothes?” he asked. “Did you want him to have some?” “No. But I thought you would.” “I have ordered three suits to be made for him,” she admitted, flushing a little. “They will be very plain and will launder beautifully. He will wear them only on special occasions. Do you mind?” “Well, not on those conditions,” he agreed reluctantly. They went to a shoe shop, and Bob became the richer for leather sandals, canvas shoes, and various other footwear, some of it undeniably fine. Burns took one little black slipper into his hand. “I wonder what Bob's grandmother would say to that,” he observed in a whisper. Ellen Lessing regarded its mate. Her lashes hid her eyes, but her lip quivered and he saw it. The salesman was busy with Bob. Burns laid his hand for an instant on hers. She looked up, and a smile struggled with the tears. A toy shop came last. Here Bob was in an ecstasy. His companions walked up and down the aisles, following his eager steps. Mrs. Lessing would have filled his arms, but she found the way obstructed. “He may have the train of cars,” Burns consented. “But they must be cars he'll have to pull about for himself. No, not the trotting horse, nor the trolley on the track, nor any other of the mechanical stuff. I'll get him that dandy little tool-chest and that box of building blocks, but that's enough.” “The mechanical toys are of the best, sir,” suggested the salesman. “They won't break except with pretty rough handling.” “That's bad,” Burns asserted. “The quicker they broke, the less objection I'd have to 'em. It's a wonder the modern child has a trace of resource or inventiveness left in him. Teach him to construct, not to destroy, then you've done something for him.” “Isn't he rather young for tools?” Mrs. Lessing was turning over a small saw in her hands, feeling its sharp teeth with a premonitory finger. “There are gauze and bandages in the office.” He laughed at her expression as she laid down the saw. “You won't object to that box of tin soldiers?” she asked. “Decidedly. You don't want to spoil him at the start. For a boy who never had a toy in his life he's acquired enough now to turn his head. Come away, Mrs. Lessing--flee temptation. Come, Bobby boy.” And Burns led the way. Bob, astride of a marvellous rocking-horse taller than himself, was like to weep. Mrs. Lessing went to him. He whispered something in her ear. She came back to Burns.