ke a lot of
practice, of course, because your throat has forgotten nearly all it
ever knew about singing. It will have to come back slowly and gradually.
Be sure and come in to-morrow and let me have a look at it."

Frances thanked him, huskily, and Frieda and I wrung his hand. After
this we left, in the bright sunshine of a day of cloudless skies, and
returned to Mrs. Milliken's, where I left the two women at the door,
returning a half an hour later with a small bunch of pink roses. When I
reached my landing, her door was open; Frieda was at work with a crochet
needle on a diminutive blue sock, while Frances was lying down on the
sofa. She never looked up as I came in, for her lovely head was bent
down towards the sleeping mite.

[Illustration: Her lovely head was bent down towards the sleeping mite]

"Maybe I shall sing to you after all, _mon petit Paul cheri_," she
said, hoarsely, and looked up at me, a few tears in her eyes vanishing
as she saw the buds I was bringing her.

My finger went to my mouth, as an invitation to silence.

"You have spoken to Master Paul," I said, "and we will have to forgive
you. It would have been cruel to forbid you such small comfort. But now,
Frieda and I are to attend to all the conversation, for you are to keep
as silent as the Sphynx. Eulalie, will you be so kind as to put these
flowers in water?"

A moment later came up a messenger with a box, an oblong cardboard thing
of immense size. I signed his ticket and bestowed ten cents upon him,
because he had curly hair and a snub nose. Then, at a signal from
Frances, I opened the box, from which cascaded American Beauties, lilies
of the valley and several sprigs of white lilac. I handed the enclosed
card to the little mother. She had been staring at the flowers and gazed
at the pasteboard in wonder. Then she passed it over to me. It was one
of Gordon's, marked "With best wishes. Please don't think of coming for
a few days until you are quite well."

"Isn't it nice of him!" exclaimed Frieda, rushing out of the room.

Presently, she returned, bearing two icewater pitchers and a dreadful
china vase in which she disposed the flowers, placing them on the
mantel-piece. But I was touched when I saw that she put my little roses
on the table, in the middle of the room, and told Frances what a
delightful odor they had.

"I--I never told him I was going to have the operation," whispered the
latter.

"I think I mentioned it to him a few d