inking of Davy.

The orator may be infusing the noblest of patriotism in his hearers'
hearts, but often he hardly knows what he is saying.

At a telling point he stops to think of Davy.

The hearer confesses that the question is unanswered.

Is Davy safe? Of course. "Then, my fellow-citizens, behold the superb
rank of America among nations!" [Cheers.]

Is Dr. Tarpion to be gone another week, and is the cook right when she
says Davy must eat? "Can we not, my friends and neighbors, lend our
humble aid in restoring these magnificent institutions of liberty to
their former splendor?" [Cries of "Hear!" "Hear!" "Down in front!"]

"The winning candidate," says the majority press, "is making a
prodigious effort. It is confidentially explained that he was wounded
by the charges of desertion or lukewarmness, which were circulated
during the week of the primaries."

Dr. Floddin is therefore to take care of Davy. Dr. Floddin's horse is
sick. It is a poor nag at best--a fifty-cents-a-call steed. The
doctor meantime has a horse from the livery.

Davy is to continue the emetic treatment. He sits on the floor in the
parlor and turns his orguinette. "Back to Our Mountains" is his
favorite air. He has twenty-eight tunes, and he plays Verdi's piece
twenty-eight times as often as any of the others.

"Oh, Davy, you'll kill us!" laments the housekeeper, for the little
orguinette is stridulent and loud.

"He'll kill himself," says the cook. "He's not strong enough to grind
that hand-organ. He eats nothing at all, at all."

"Papa isn't here any more, but I take my medicine," the child says.
The drug is weakening his stomach.

"It is the only way," says Dr. Floddin, "to relieve his lungs."

"Are you sure he is safe?" asks Esther. "Are you sure it was asthma?"

"Oh, yes. Did you not see the white foam? That is asthma."

"You do not come often enough, doctor. I know Mr. Lockwin would be
angry if he knew."

"My horse will be well to-morrow and I can call twice. But the child
has passed the crisis. You must soon give him air. Let him play a
while in the back yard. His lungs must be accustomed to the cold of
winter."

"I presume Mr. Lockwin will take us south in December."

"Yes, I guess he'd better."

But Esther does not let Davy go out. The rattle is still in the little
chest.

Lockwin is home at one o'clock in the morning. He visits Davy's bed.
How beautiful is the sleeping child! "My God! if he h