MR. HARTOPP.--“But for the little girl, make your mind easy,--at least for the present. I will place her at my farm cottage. My bailiff’s wife, a kind woman, will take care of her, while you pursue your calling elsewhere. As for this money, you will want it yourself; your poor little child shall cost you nothing. So that’s settled. Let me come up and see her. I am a bit of a doctor myself. Every man blest with a large family, in whose house there is always some interesting case of small-pox, measles, whooping-cough, scarlatina, etc., has a good private practice of his own. I’m not brilliant in book-learning, Mr. Chapman. But as to children’s complaints in a practical way,” added Hartopp, with a glow of pride, “Mrs. H. says she’d rather trust the little ones to me than to Dr. Gill. I’ll see your child, and set her up I’ll be bound. But now I think of it,” continued Hartopp, softening more and more, “if exhibit you must, why not stay at Gatesboro’ for a time? More may be made in this town than elsewhere.” “No, no; I could not have the heart to act here again without her. I feel at present as if I can never again act at all!” “Something else will turn up. Providence is so kind to me, Mr. Mayor.” Waife turned to the door. “You will come soon?” he said anxiously. The Mayor, who had been locking up his ledgers and papers, replied, “I will but stay to give some orders; in a quarter of an hour I shall be at your hotel.” CHAPTER XX. Sophy hides heart and shows temper. The child was lying on a sofa drawn near the window in her own room, and on her lap was the doll Lionel had given to her. Carried with her in her wanderings, she had never played with it; never altered a ribbon in its yellow tresses; but at least once a day she had taken it forth and looked at it in secret. And all that morning, left much to herself, it had been her companion. She was smoothing down its frock, which she fancied had got ruffled,--smoothing it down with a sort of fearful tenderness, the doll all the while staring her full in the face with its blue bead eyes. Waife, seated near her, was trying to talk gayly; to invent fairy tales blithe with sport and fancy: but his invention flagged, and the fairies prosed awfully. He had placed the dominos before Sir Isaac, but Sophy had scarcely looked at them, from the languid heavy eyes on which the doll so stupidly fixed its own. Sir Isaac himself seemed spiritless; he was aware that something was wrong. Now and then he got up restlessly, sniffed the dominos, and placed a paw gently, very gently, on Sophy’s knee. Not being encouraged, he lay down again uneasily, often shifting his position as if the floor was grown too hard for him. Thus the Mayor found the three. He approached Sophy with the step of a man accustomed to sick-rooms and ailing children,--step light as if shod with felt,--put his hand on her shoulder, kissed her forehead, and then took the doll. Sophy started,