Doughty was interested only in looking into the eyes too soon to close forever, and the faces of the two children were more than a man could intentionally look upon a second time. So when Doughty’s baby, who had been creeping about the floor, suddenly beholding the glories of the great seal which depended from the Squire’s fob-chain, tried to climb the leg of the storekeeper’s trousers, the Squire smiled, as a saint in extremity might smile at the sudden appearance of an angel, and he stooped--no easy operation for a man of Squire Tomple’s bulk--and, lifting the little fellow in his arms, put kisses all over the tiny face, which, in view of the relations of cleanliness to attractiveness, was not especially bewitching. A moment later, however, a muffled but approaching step brought back to the Squire his own sense of propriety, and he dropped the baby just in time to be able to give a hand to Fred Macdonald, as that young man softly pushed open the door. The Squire’s face again became apologetic. “How did it happen?” whispered Fred. “Why,” replied the Squire, “the doctor says it’s a galloping consumption; _I_ never knew a thing about it. Doctor says it’s the quickest case he ever knew; he never imagined anything was the matter with George. If _I’d_ known anything about it, I’d have had the doctor attending him long ago; but George isn’t of the complaining kind. The idea of a fellow being at work for me, and dying right straight along. Why, it’s awful! He says he never knew anything about it himself, so I don’t see how _I_ could. He was at the store up to four or five days ago, then his wife came around one morning and told me that he didn’t feel fit to work that day, but she didn’t say what the matter was. I’ve been thinking, for two or three weeks, about giving him some help in the store; but you know how business drives everything out of a man’s head. First I thought I’d stay around the store myself evenings, and let George rest; but I’ve had to go to lodge meetings and prayer meetings, and my wife’s wanted me to go out with her, and so my time’s been taken up. Then I thought I’d get a boy, and--well, I didn’t know exactly which to do; but if I’d known----” “But can’t something be done to brace him up for a day or two?” interrupted Fred; “then I’ll take him out driving every day, and perhaps he’ll pick up.” The Squire looked twenty years older for a moment or two as he replied, “The doctor says he hasn’t any physique to rally upon; he’s all gone, muscle, blood, and everything. It’s the queerest thing I ever knew; he hasn’t had anything to do, these past few years, but just what _I_ did when I was a young man.” The dying man turned his eyes inquiringly, and asked in a very thin voice, “Isn’t Fred here?” Fred started from the Squire’s side, but the storekeeper arrested his progress with both hands, and fixing his eyes on Fred’s necktie, whispered, “You don’t think _I’m_ to blame, do you?”