"Somebody's been giving you the wrong tip. There wasn't any knife," replied the Professor with a wink. "You may send me two hundred and fifty copies of the paper. And, by the way, do what you can to get that poor lunatic off easy, and I'll square the bills--with commission." "I'll see the Justice first thing in the morning," said the editor with enthusiasm. "Much obliged, Professor Certain. And the article will be all right. I'll show you a proof. It mightn't be a bad notion for you to drop in at the jail with me, and see Neal, the man that stab--that interrupted the meeting, before he gets talking with any one else." "So it mightn't. But what about my leaving, now?" Professor Certain asked of the physician. "Go ahead. I'll keep watch." Shortly after the itinerant had gone out with the exponent of free and untrammeled journalism, the boy awoke and looked about with fevered anxiety for his father. The little nurse was beside him at once. "You mustn't wiggle around," she commanded. "Do you want a drink?" Gratefully he drank the water which she held to his lips. "Where's my Dad?" he asked. "He's gone out. He'll come back pretty soon. Lie down." He sank back, fixing his eyes upon her. "Will you stay with me till he comes?" She nodded. "Does it hurt you much?" Her cool and tiny fingers touched his forehead, soothingly. "You're very hot. I think you've got a little fever." "Don't take your hand away." His eyes closed, but presently opened again. "I think you're very pretty," he said shyly. "Do you? I like to have people think I'm pretty. Uncle Guardy scolds me for it. Not really, you know, but just pretending. He says I'm vain." "Is that your uncle, the gentleman that fixed my arm?" "Yes. I call him Uncle Guardy because he's my guardian, too." "I like him. He looks good. But I like you better. I like you a lot." "Everybody does," replied the girl with dimpling complacency. "They can't help it. It's because I'm me!" For a moment he brooded. "Am I going to die?" he asked quite suddenly. "Die? Of course not." "Would you be sorry if I did?" "Yes. If you died you couldn't like me any more. And I want everybody to like me and think me pretty." "I'm glad I'm not. It would be tough on Dad." "My Uncle Guardy thinks your father is a bad man," said the fairy, not without a spice of malice. Up rose the patient from his pillow. "Then I hate him. He's a liar. My Dad is the best man in the world." A brighter hue than fever burnt in his cheeks, and his hand went to his shoulder. "I won't have his bandages on me," he cried. But she had thrown herself upon his arm, and pushed him back. "Oh, don't! Please don't," she besought. "Uncle Guardy told me to keep you perfectly quiet. And I've made you sit up--" "What's all this commotion?" demanded Dr. Elliot brusquely, from the door. "You said my father was a bad man," cried the outraged patient.