"Here, stop! Throw them out of that window."

The boy's brow clouded over.

"Let me give them to some one at the school; they're such nice round
ones."

"I said, throw them out of the window, sir."

"All right," said the boy quickly; and he threw the pebbles into the
garden.

"Now, then; look here, sir--or no," said the doctor less sternly. "Look
here, my boy."

The doctor's manner influenced the little fellow directly, and he went
up and laid his hand upon his patron's knee, looking brightly from face
to face.

"Now, mind this: in future you are to be Dexter."

"All right: Dexter Coleby," said the boy.

"No, no, no, no!" cried the doctor testily. "Dexter Grayson; and don't
keep on saying `All right.'"

"All--"

The boy stopped short, and rubbed his nose with his cuff.

"Hah! First thing, my dear. Twelve pocket-handkerchiefs, and mark them
`Dexter Grayson.'"

"What? twelve handkerchies for me--all for me?"

"Yes, sir, all for you; and you are to use them. Never let me see you
rub your nose with your cuff again."

The boy's mouth opened to say, "All right," but he checked himself.

"That's right!" cried the doctor. "I see you are teachable. You were
going to say `all right.'"

"You told me not to."

"I did; and I'm very pleased to find you did not do it."

"I say, shall I have to clean the knives?"

"No, no, no."

"Nor yet the boots and shoes?"

"No, boy; no."

"I shall have to fetch the water then, shan't I?"

"My good boy, nothing of the kind. You are going to live with us, and
you are my adopted son," said the doctor rather pompously, while Helen
sighed.

"Which?" queried the boy.

"Which what?" said the doctor.

"Which what you said?"

"I did not say anything, sir."

"Oh my! what a story!" cried the boy, appealing to Helen. "Didn't you
hear him say I was to be his something son?"

"Adopted son," said the doctor severely; "and, look here, you must not
speak to me in that way."

"All--" Dexter checked himself again, and he only stared.

"Now, you understand," said the doctor, after a few minutes' hesitation;
"you are to be here like my son, and you may call me--yes, father, or
papa."

"How rum!" said the boy, showing his white teeth with a remarkable want
of reverence. "I say," he added, turning to Helen; "what am I to call
you!"

Helen turned to her father for instructions, her brow wrinkling from
amusement and vexation.

"Helen," said the doctor, in a d