an' he rushed back to the doctor.

"'What's the matter now?" said the medical man.

"'"Outside I'm sound as a dollar," said my neighbor, "but it seems
as if all hell had moved into me."

"'Now, cares are like boils: it don't do to get rid of 'em too
quick. They're often a great relief to the inside of a man, an'
it's better to have 'em on the surface than way down in your
marrow.'

"Bill an' his wife looked into each other's eyes for half a minute,
but neither spoke.

"'I'm goin' to ask a favor of you,' I said. 'I see that there's
nobody livin' in the old farm-house out back of the garden. I wish
you'd let me put my little family into it until I can build a home
for 'em.'

"'Oh, my!' Mrs. Bill exclaimed. 'Those children would be running
all over the lawns and the garden. They'd destroy my roses.'

"'True; but, after all, they're more beautiful than the roses,' I
urged. 'They're more graceful in form, more charming in color.
Then, too, roses cannot laugh or weep or play. Roses cannot look
up at you out of eyes full of the light of heaven an' brighter than
your jewels. Roses may delight, but they cannot love you or know
that you love them. Dear woman, my roses will wander over the
lawns. Their colors will be flickering about you, and the music of
their voices will surround the villa some days; but, God knows,
they'll look better, far better than the dogs or the bronze lions,
or the roses. I shall dress them well.'

"'I think he's right,' said Bill.

"'He's most disturbing and persuasive anyway--the revolutionist!'
said Mrs. Bill. 'If it's really a favor to you, Mr. Potter, I
shall agree to it. But you must have a trusty woman. I really
cannot assume any responsibility.'

"'I thanked her and promised to assume all responsibility, and Mrs.
Warburton was to get the old house ready at once.

"Three days later I drove to the villa with my matron and the
babies. Rather quick work, wasn't it? I hadn't let any grass grow
under my plan. When we lit at the front door every youngster broke
out in a loud hurrah of merriment. The three-year-old
boy--beautiful beyond all words--got aboard one of the crouched
lions and began to shout. A little girl made a grab at the
morning-glories on a Doric column, while her sister had mounted a
swinging seat an' tumbled to the floor. The other two were
chattering like parrots. Honestly, I was scared. I was afraid
that Mrs. Bill would come down and jump into h