"Ah, Mr. Dick Remington," he said, in the pleasantest of voices, "good morning, _good_ morning. Are you also here on a mission of kindness to our little patient--our lit-tle pa-tient? Permit me." He disengaged the clammy hand which clasped Dick's, and timed Gracie's pulse by his large gold watch, at which the children stared in awe. "Rather feverish, but an improvement. What do you say? It's nothing to worry about? Then we'll not worry about it. Why should we? Life brings a peck of worries in its train--why should we make the peck overflow--o-ver-flow?" With his head on one side, like a large yellow-fringed bird, he smilingly invited an opinion from Dick. "Why, indeed?" said Dick. "True--true. Why?" As though not he, but Dick, had made the inquiry. "We are getting along nicely, Mrs. Death, I am happy to say. In a short time we shall have our little patient running about again, playing with her companions, as well as ever. The troubles of children, eh, Mr. Remington?" "Yes," said Dick, vaguely. "A private word in your ear. Have we heard from our missing friend?" "I believe not," replied Dick. "Sad--sad--sad! But there is time--there is always time; and hope--there is always hope. She bears up." "What else can she do? Knocking your head against a stone wall is not an agreeable diversion." "_Your_ head, my young friend, _your_ head," said Dr. Vinsen, jocosely. Then turning to Mrs. Death, "What is this? A linseed poultice? Very proper. Let it be very hot. Our little patient makes a face. If she never has a worse trouble than a linseed poultice she is to be envied. Here is a bottle of medicine--a tablespoonful every four hours. I will call again to-morrow. You will not shut your door against me, eh?" "No, indeed, sir. We don't shut the door against our best friends." "So kind of you to say so." He paused to contemplate the group of children on the floor. "This"--with a comprehensive wave of his hand, so as to take in the whole of the room--"is a scene for an artist, and on the walls of the Academy would attract attention, even from the aristocracy." "That wouldn't help them much," observed Dick. "I don't know--I really don't know. It enlarges the scope, widens the sympathies--wi-dens the sym-pa-thies. Be happy, children, be happy." He went through the ceremony of shaking hands with Dick and Mrs. Death, and with an amiable smile, in which his halo seemed to take part, left the room. "Dick," whispered Gracie. He bent towards her. "May I call you Dick?" "Yes, Gracie." "Wait a bit till my cough's over." She almost choked herself in her effort to finish the sentence before the cough commenced. It lasted a long time, but Dick, supporting her in his arms, was glad to hear that it was looser. Then she whispered to him again, "Don't let 'em hear us, Dick. Say Damn!" "Damn!" said Dick, without the least hesitation.