, if I let him run wild with the
servants!"

"I--I beg your pardon, papa."

"Humph! Granted. Now, what's to be done first? The boy is clean?"

"Oh yes."

"Can't improve him then, that way; but I want as soon as possible to get
rid of that nasty, pasty, low-class pallor. One does not see it in poor
people's children, as a rule, while these Union little ones always look
sickly to me. You must feed him up, Helen."

"I have begun, papa," she said, smiling.

"Humph! Yes. Clothes. Yes; we must have some clothes, and--oh, by the
way, I had forgotten. Here, my boy."

The lad jumped up with alacrity, and came to the doctor's side boldly--
looking keenly from one to the other.

"What did you say your name was!"

"Bed--Obed Coleby."

"Hah!" cried the doctor; "then we'll do away with that at once. Now,
what shall we call you!"

"I d'know," said the boy, laughing. "Jack?"

"No, no," said the doctor thoughtfully, while Helen looked on rather
amused at her father's intent manner, and the quick bird-like movements
of their visitor.

For the boy, after watching the doctor for a few moments, grew tired,
and finding himself unnoticed, dropped down on the carpet, took four
pebbles from his pocket, laid them on the back of his right hand, and
throwing them in the air, caught them separately by as many rapid
snatches in the air.

"Do that again," cried the doctor, suddenly becoming interested.

The boy showed his white teeth, threw the stones in the air, and caught
them again with the greatest ease.

"That's it, Helen, my dear," cried the doctor triumphantly. "Cleverness
of the right hand--dexterity. Capital name."

"Capital name, papa?"

"Yes; Dexter! Good Latin sound. Fresh and uncommon. Dexter--Dex.
Look here, sir. No more Obed. You shall be called Dexter."

"All right," said the boy.

"And if you behave yourself well, perhaps we shall shorten it into Dex."

"Dick's better," said the boy sharply.

"No, it is not, sir; Dex."

"Well, Dix, then," said the boy, throwing one stone up high enough to
touch the ceiling, and in catching at it over-handed, failing to achieve
his object, and striking it instead, so that it flew against the wall
with a loud rap.

"Put those stones in your pocket, sir," cried the doctor to the boy, who
ran and picked up the one which had fallen, looking rather abashed.
"Another inch, and it would have gone through that glass."

"Yes. Wasn't it nigh!" cried the boy.