piteous leanness of
the throat and chest beneath, the fragile leanness of the baby bird
just fallen from the nest. "Poor little youngster!" he repeated. "He
has had a hard time of it in this world. Sometimes it does seem as if
they didn't start with quite a fair chance."

"Doctor," the word came with something that was very like a groan; "I
have done my best."

The doctor stopped him instantly.

"Brenton, I know that. You've had a bad time, too. Don't think for a
minute I am forgetting that, even if I don't say too much about it.
It's extra hard, in this case, for the boy was perfectly strong, when
he was born."

"You mean--" Brenton's mouth had suddenly gone so dry that he could not
finish out the phrase.

The doctor did not falter.

"Brenton, if I am to help you keep the boy, I shall have to talk to you
brutally. The baby was born all right, healthy as a child could be,
tough and strong enough for a dozen children. However, every baby needs
a little nursing, needs a little dosing now and then, even if he is
healthy. That is what your baby hasn't had. Mrs. Brenton, with the best
will in the world, has fed him any sort of milk from any sort of cows,
and she has counted on the Infinite to sterilize the milkman's fingers.
And, in all probability, the Infinite didn't do it. Too busy, likely,
in sterilizing the youngster's mind. Then, when a dose of honest castor
oil would have made good the trouble, she gave him a dose of _Science
and Health_, instead. It may be all right in theory; in this practical
case, she might just as well have rolled up the inspired pages into
pills and have poked them down the baby's throat." And then the doctor
pulled himself up. "However, that's done with. Now, if you'll stand by
me and see that my orders are carried out, I'll fall to work and try my
best to undo the harm. You'll see me through, Brenton? It will keep you
on duty steadily; but it is the one thing that will save your child."

"Of course. Go on." Then Brenton shut his teeth.

"Nurse, have you been able to give--" And the doctor put her through a
searching catechism. Then, "So far, so good. I am glad you kept your
head; it was the one chance. Now, suppose we look a little closer."

To Brenton, watching intently, it seemed almost impossible that those
great, acid-stained hands could stir, then lift, the little form so
tenderly. Indeed, once on the doctor's knee, the baby nestled weakly to
the curve of his rough coat sleeve