drive to town and buy a train of cars--red,
shiny cars and an engine with a bell on it. What do you think of that?"

It did not take long to change Bob's fright into the happiest
anticipations. Red Pepper Burns was at his best with children; he had
what their mothers called "a way with them."

A knock at the door and Cynthia's voice calling, "Here's some things for
the little boy, Doctor," put an end to a full half-hour of delightful
comradeship, during which the sheets of the bed had became a tent and
the two were soldiers resting after a day's march. Burns rose and took
in the parcel. Martha Macauley had sent it. Her boy Harold was the
nearest in size to Bob of any of the children of his neighbours, and the
parcel held everything needed from undershirt to scarlet Windsor scarf
to tie under the rolling collar of the blue blouse.

"A bath first, Bob," and his new guardian initiated him into the
exciting experience of a splash in a big white tub, in water decidedly
warmer than it would be a week hence when he should have become used
to the invigorating cool plunge. Then Burns, glowing from contact with
water as cold as it could be got from the tap, clad in bathrobe and
slippers, attempted to solve the mysteries of Bob's toilet. Roars
of laughter interspersed with high pipings of glee presently brought
Cynthia to the door.

"Can't I help you, Doctor Burns?" she called anxiously.

"Not a bit of it, Cynthia: much obliged. I'm having the time of my
life. Stand still, son; let's try it this way round!" came back to the
housekeeper's ears.

"I ain't never wore so many things before," Bob declared doubtfully, as a
small white waist with, dangling elastic stocking-supporters was finally
discovered to go best buttoned in the back.

"I know. But you'll see how fine it is to have your stockings held up
for you. Hi! Here are some sandals, Bob! Barefoot sandals, only we'll
wear them over stockings to-day, since we're going shopping. Now for
these blue garments I wonder how they go. Shapeless-looking things, they
look to me. I suppose they'll resolve into baggy knickers and the sort
of long shirt with a belt to it the youngsters of your age all wear.
Here we go. Does this top part button behind, Bob, like the waist? No,
I think not.... It sure looks odd, whichever way we don it, but that
may be because it's pretty big. Harold's several sizes bigger than you,
though he can't be much older. Give me six months and I'll have you