"

"And Johnny is coming."

"Well, what of it? I hope Doctor Lavendar won't ask him to say his
catechism!"

As it happened, Johnny came first, and his mother was so eager to see
him and touch him that, hearing his step, she ran to help him off with
his coat--to his great embarrassment; then she came into the library
clinging to his arm. Father and son greeted each other with, "Hello,
youngster!" and, "Hello, sir!" and Johnny added that it was beginning to
rain like blazes.

"I sent the carriage for Doctor Lavendar," Mrs. Robertson said.

"He coming?" Johnny asked.

"Yes," she said; "he's very, very good, Johnny, and"--she paused, then
said, breathlessly, "_you must do whatever he wants you to do_."

The young man looked faintly interested. "What's she up to now?" he
asked himself; then began to talk to his father. But remembering his
aunt Lydia's parting injunction, "Now, Johnny, be nice to Mrs.
Robertson," he was careful to speak to his mother once in a while.
Happening to catch the twinkle of her rings, he tried to be especially
"nice."

"When I get rich I'm going to buy Aunty a diamond ring like yours, Mrs.
Robertson."

"I'll give you one of mine, if you'll wear it," she said, eagerly.

Johnny's guffaw of laughter ended in a droll look at his father, who
said:

"My dear Mary! This _cub_, and a diamond ring?"

She was too absorbed in loving her child to be hurt by his bad manners,
and, besides, at that moment Doctor Lavendar arrived, and she ran out
into the hall to welcome him; as she took his hand she whispered:

"Doctor Lavendar, you will help me with Johnny? _I am going to tell
him._ I'm going to tell him to-night!--and I depend on you to make him
come to us."

The old man's face grew very grave; he looked closely at Mary, standing
there, clasping and unclasping her hands, but he did not answer her.
Later, when they went out to the dining room, he was still silent, just
watching Mary and listening to Johnny,--who laughed and talked (and was
"nice" to his mother), and ate enormously, and who looked, sitting there
at his grandfather's old table, as much like the new Mr. Smith as
twenty-three can look like seventy-eight.

"Well," the young fellow said, friendly and confidential to the company
at large, "what do you suppose? It's settled--my 'career'!"

"I hope that means Robertson and Carey?" Mr. Robertson said. He glanced
over at his son with a sort of aching pride in his strength and
carelessn