Galt opened a big portfolio, and began taking out the pictures one by one. “Where has any one ever seen a child more lifelike than that one? Why, it is actually walking away from the paper; and look at that one on the fence, and this boy with the top and string!” “Why, good gracious!” Dearing cried out, impulsively, as he stood transfixed by surprise, “I know who did that work--I--” But he checked himself suddenly. “_You_ know who did it?” Galt said, facing him in surprise. “What do you mean, Wynn. Do you really know anything about it?” “I spoke without thinking,” Dearing said, awkwardly. “You know, a physician sometimes runs across matters which he is obliged to regard as confidential, and, since the--the lady doesn't want to be known, I could not feel free to mention her name; besides, you know, I _might_ be mistaken.” Dearing turned from the pictures and moved toward the door. “I am satisfied that you could tell more about it if you would,” Galt said. “I really would like to know, for I have never run across pictures I liked so well. And to think they are done by some young woman who may not know how good her work really is!” “I know nothing--absolutely nothing,” Wynn said, with a non-committal smile. “But, if I did, I wouldn't trust it to you or any other man, so there you are. Why haven't you been over? Uncle Tom and Madge look for you every afternoon to join them at tea. You'd better come soon; they are off for New York in a few days.” “New York!” Galt exclaimed, in surprise. “Yes; you know they go up there every summer for a ten days' stay, visiting the Marstons. Old Marston was a colonel under my uncle in the war. He went to New York after peace was declared and invested all he had left. He is now a big tea-and-coffee importer, and worth a lot of money. Mrs. Marston likes Madge, and gives her a big time once a year. It is always a picnic for uncle and her. They start off like jolly school-children. They have the time of their lives from the moment they leave till they get back all tired out and coated with dust. Now, you look after your health, Kenneth. Lie around this quiet old house and take a good rest. Keep those bookcases with their lying contents closed, and read sound, hopeful literature, and I'll see that you stay above ground for a good many years to come.” “If I could only get _you_ to read those books, instead of the namby-pamby stuff issued by the Sunday-schools for the edification of children who still believe in Santa Claus, you'd be a wiser man,” Galt said, good-naturedly, as he accompanied Dearing to the door. “But, then, I'd not have the fun of arguing with you.” “I could put up as good an argument, even on your own side, as you can,” Dearing said, half seriously. “I could give one illustration which would prove to men like you, at least, that the whole world is topsy-turvy, and the Creator, if there is such a thing, more heartless than any man alive.”