“He reminds me of the pictures of the famine-sufferers in India,” remarked Gassy. “How their ribs did stick out, and how funny their hands were,—like claws.” “David looks to me like the sweetest small boy ever made,” said Barbara, quietly, as she bent down to kiss the pale lips of the little fellow, and tucked the afghan around him more closely. “Puzzle,—find David!” called Jack. And indeed, the child seemed lost in the huge chair, his wasted little face wearing a faint smile of contentment at being the centre of so much attention. “If you children continue to talk so loudly, you will have to leave,” said Dr. Grafton, as he prepared to depart. “Barbara, you will see that David has all the quiet he needs, of course.” The Kid raised himself from the floor, where he had been wriggling in the imaginary likeness of a boa constrictor. “Everybody talks about David,” he said jealously. “Aren’t I the baby any more?” “You’ll always be a baby,” consoled Jack; “a great big baby, even when you are as old as I am. So don’t worry.” Gassy laughed, and the Kid looked puzzled. “Babies always cry,” he said reflectively. “Yes?” said Jack. “Then you must be a baby too,” added the Kid, with triumph, “’cause I saw you cry when we first saw David. I didn’t cry at all.” “No, you young sinner,” returned his elder brother. “You’ve made a picnic of the whole thing. I’ll bet a cookie you’ve had a good half of every bit of food that has been sent to David. Hasn’t he, Barbara?” “People have been very kind,” said his sister, disregarding his question. “But really, if Miss Bates brings another installment of preserved plums, I don’t know what I shall do. David can’t eat them, and I’ve explained it to her; but she insists that they are the best things possible for him, and brings them every other day, with unvarying regularity.” “Let them come,” said Jack, “and Charles and I will advance to the onslaught, and deliver David from the attacks of the enemy. Plums, chicken-broth—even quail—let them continue to flow in abundantly, and fail to mention to Auburn that David is not an ostrich.” “I guess Mrs. Willowby understands,” observed Gassy, impersonally. “She asked me if David enjoyed the wine jelly she sent yesterday, and I said I didn’t know, but that Jack said it was the best he had ever tasted.” “Thunder!” exclaimed Jack, turning very red. “Gassy, you do bear away the palm for unpalatable honesty. Why is it, I wonder, that every really honest person is disagreeable, too?” “Letters!” said Dr. Grafton, reappearing opportunely. “Two for you, Barbara, one from your mother, marked ‘Personal,’ and the other postmarked New York. David, how would you like to see your mother again?” The little boy looked up and smiled at his father. “I wish she’d come,” he said. “She’s never seen me since I was a sufferer from India. I was a balloon when she left.”