"

"Well, not on those conditions," he agreed reluctantly.

They went to a shoe shop, and Bob became the richer for leather sandals,
canvas shoes, and various other footwear, some of it undeniably fine.
Burns took one little black slipper into his hand.

"I wonder what Bob's grandmother would say to that," he observed in a
whisper.

Ellen Lessing regarded its mate. Her lashes hid her eyes, but her lip
quivered and he saw it. The salesman was busy with Bob. Burns laid his
hand for an instant on hers. She looked up, and a smile struggled with
the tears.

A toy shop came last. Here Bob was in an ecstasy. His companions walked
up and down the aisles, following his eager steps. Mrs. Lessing would
have filled his arms, but she found the way obstructed.

"He may have the train of cars," Burns consented. "But they must be cars
he'll have to pull about for himself. No, not the trotting horse, nor
the trolley on the track, nor any other of the mechanical stuff. I'll
get him that dandy little tool-chest and that box of building blocks,
but that's enough."

"The mechanical toys are of the best, sir," suggested the salesman.
"They won't break except with pretty rough handling."

"That's bad," Burns asserted. "The quicker they broke, the less
objection I'd have to 'em. It's a wonder the modern child has a trace
of resource or inventiveness left in him. Teach him to construct, not to
destroy, then you've done something for him."

"Isn't he rather young for tools?" Mrs. Lessing was turning over a small
saw in her hands, feeling its sharp teeth with a premonitory finger.

"There are gauze and bandages in the office." He laughed at her
expression as she laid down the saw.

"You won't object to that box of tin soldiers?" she asked.

"Decidedly. You don't want to spoil him at the start. For a boy who
never had a toy in his life he's acquired enough now to turn his head.
Come away, Mrs. Lessing--flee temptation. Come, Bobby boy." And Burns
led the way.

Bob, astride of a marvellous rocking-horse taller than himself, was like
to weep. Mrs. Lessing went to him. He whispered something in her ear.
She came back to Burns.

"Doctor Burns," said she, "every boy has a rocking-horse. He's just
the age to enjoy it. Surely it won't hazard his inventiveness: it will
develop it. He'll ride all over the country, as you do in the Green
Imp."

"What's the price?"

"It's not costly and it's a very good one."

Burns inquired the price