"How did he know?" demanded David. "He is very nice himself," Helena said smiling. David meditated. "Is that gentleman my enemy?" "Of course not! he isn't anybody's enemy," she told him reprovingly. David turned silently to his rabbits. "Why did you think he was your enemy?" she persisted. "I only just hoped he wasn't; I don't want to love him." "What!" "If he was my enemy, I'd have to love him, you know," David explained patiently. Helena in her confused astonishment knew not what to reply. She stammered something about that being wrong; of course David must love Mr. Pryor! "They ought to have fresh water," David interrupted thoughtfully; and Helena had to reach into the hutch for a battered tin pan. She watched him run to the stable and come back, holding the pan in both hands and walking very slowly under the mottled branches of the button-woods; at every step the water splashed over the rusty brim, and the sunshine, catching and flickering in it, was reflected in a rippling gleam across his serious face. All that afternoon he permitted her to follow him about. He was gently polite when she spoke to him but he hardly noticed her until, as they went down through the orchard, his little hand tightened suddenly on hers, and he pressed against her skirts. "Are there snakes in this grass?" he asked timorously. "A snake," he added, looking up at her confidingly, "is the only insect I am afraid of." She stooped down and cuddled him reassuringly, and he rewarded her by snuggling up against her like a friendly puppy. She was very happy. As it grew dusk and cool, and all the sky was yellow behind the black line of the hills, she lured him into the house and watched him eat his supper, forgetting to eat her own. When she took him up-stairs to bed, Dr. Lavendar's directions came back to her with a slight shock--she must hear him say his prayers. How was she to introduce the subject? The embarrassed color burned in her cheeks as she helped him undress and tried to decide on the proper moment to speak of--prayers. But David took the matter into his own hands. As he stepped into his little night-clothes, buttoning them around his waist with slow precision, he said: "Now I'll say my prayers. Sit by the window; then I can see that star when I open my eyes. It's hard to keep your eyes shut so long, ain't it?" he added confidentially. Helena sat down, her heart fluttering in her throat. David knelt beside her, shutting first one eye and then the other. "'Now I lay me--"' he began in a businesslike voice. At the Amen he opened his eyes and drew a long breath. Helena moved slightly and he shut his eyes again; "I've not done yet. "'Jesus, tender Shepherd, hear me, Bless Thy little lamb to-night--'" He paused and looked up at Mrs. Richie. "Can I say colt?" Before she could reply he decided for himself. "No; colts don't have shepherds; it has to be lamb."