to be about he was allowed out into the garden, where the kittens
loved to sun themselves in the sheltered corner down by the boxwood
border.

Still Bambo's life hung trembling in the balance. The actual disease had
abated, but his weakness and want of vitality made his recovery seem
almost impossible. One hour he would revive somewhat, and the next sink
so low that Miss Turner and Miss Alice felt that at any moment the end
might come. Between them they kept constant watch beside the faithful
creature, feeling as if nothing that they might do could repay him for
the devotion which he had displayed towards the children. Bit by bit
they had gathered from Darby and Joan the story of their quest of the
Happy Land, what befell them by the way, and all that the dwarf had done
to deliver them from the clutches of Thieving Joe, and the captivity of
life dragged out within the narrow compass of the Satellite Circus
Company's old yellow caravan.

At last a day came when the poor dwarf smiled up into Miss Turner's
anxious face with a world of intelligence and gratitude in the eyes
whose sweet expression made the wan, pinched features look almost
beautiful to the aunt of Darby and Joan. She did not regard him as an
object utterly unlike other people, a bit of lumber for which the world
could have no real use or fitting place. She remembered only that by
this man's promptitude and courage two innocent, helpless children had
been rescued from a fate infinitely worse than a peaceful death, with a
green grave under the daisies, and those who loved them delivered from a
lifelong sorrow. So there were real gladness and true thankfulness in
Aunt Catharine's look and voice as she laid a cool hand upon the
invalid's brow, saying kindly,--

"You are better, are you not, Bambo?--that is, if it is Bambo I am to
call you."

"Yes, ma'am, I do feel better," answered the dwarf, in a low, quavering
voice. "And, please, call me Bambo; it is the name little master and
missy knows me by."

"You have been very ill, but you will soon be stronger and able to see
the children. They come to the door very often to ask for you."

A flush of pleasure crept into the dwarf's hollow cheeks. He was not
used to having anybody asking after his health, or interested in him in
any way. Then Miss Turner held a cup of nice strong soup to his lips,
and soon after he fell into a sweet, refreshing sleep, which lasted many
hours.

Dr. King was standing by the bed