Her silent laughter did not disturb him. He finished with another satisfied Amen. Helena put her arms about him to raise him from the floor, but he looked up, aggrieved. "Why, I've not done yet," he reproached her "You've forgot the blessings." "The blessings?" she asked timidly. "Why, of course," said David, trying to be patient; "but I'm most done," he encouraged her. "God bless everybody--Dr. Lavendar taught me the new blessings," he interrupted himself, his eyes snapping open, "because my old blessings were all gone to heaven. God bless everybody; Dr. Lavendar, an' Mary, an' Goliath--" Helena laughed. "He said I could," David defended himself doggedly--"an' Danny, an' Dr. King, an' Mrs. Richie. And make me a good boy. For Jesus' sake Amen. Now I'm done!" cried David, scrambling happily to his feet. "And--Mr. Pryor, too? Won't you ask God to bless Mr. Pryor?" "But," said David, frowning, "I'm done." "After this, though, it would be nice--" "Well," David answered coldly, "God can bless him if He wants to. But He needn't do it just to please me." CHAPTER XI When Dr. Lavendar left David at the Stuffed Animal House, he didn't feel, somehow, like going home; the Rectory would be so quiet. It occurred to him that, as he was on the hill, he might as well look in on Benjamin Wright. He found the old gentleman in his beaver hat and green serge dressing-gown, tottering up and down the weedy driveway in front of his veranda, and repeating poetry. "O great corrector of enormous times, Shaker of o'er rank states, thou grand decider Of dusty and old titles, that healest with blood--Hello! 'Bout time you came to see me. I suppose you want to get some money out of me for something?" "Of course; I always want money out of somebody for something. There's a leak in the vestry roof. How are you?" "How do you suppose I am? At eighty-one, with one foot in the grave! Ready to jump over a five-barred gate?" "I'm seventy-two," said Dr. Lavendar, "and I played marbles yesterday." "Come in and have a smoke," the older man said, hobbling on to the veranda, where four great white columns, blistered and flaked by time, supported a roof that darkened the shuttered windows of the second story. He led the way indoors to the dining-room, growling that his nigger, Simmons, was a fool. "He _says_ he closes the shutters to keep the flies out; makes the room as dark as a pocket, and there ain't any flies this time of year, anyhow. He does it to stop my birds from singing; he can't fool me! To stop my birds!" He went over to one of the windows and pushed the shutters open with a clatter; instantly a twitter ran from cage to cage, and the fierce melancholy of his old face softened. "Hear that?" he said proudly. "I ought to come oftener," Dr. Lavendar reproached himself; "he's lonely."