ward he stood motionless, sunk deep in revery. The little
boy was trying to guess what he had done. It must be very, very
wrong, or else Fav-ver Doctor wouldn't be standing there like
that. He would talk and take notice. David knew this was so,
but, try as he might, he could not think what sin he was guilty
of. It was a great puzzle, and, in truth, David was frequently
puzzled in the same way. For the laws which grown-ups have for
little boys are so much like any other kind of laws that it is
hard to get any justice out of them.

Without knowing what it was, David keenly felt his disgrace. The
glory of being in the Doctor's house; the glory of sitting at
table in an ordinary chair; the glory of a hair-cut, and even the
glory of trouvers--each of these mighty events was now shorn of
its charm. Everything had grown sadly commonplace; for there can
be no satisfaction in achieving greatness, if one is so soon to
be forgotten. So now, with the passing of every instant, things
were growing more and more solemn.

Doubtless the chair on which David was sitting was partly to
blame. It was such a slippery seat that if one didn't hold on
tight he would be sure to slide right off. There were stickery
things in it, too, for the hair-cloth was getting all worn out.

The little boy sat politely on the stickery things and waited. If
he waited long enough, maybe Fav-ver Doctor would smile at him as
Mother always did. At the present time, though, one could hardly
believe that there were ever any smiles in Fav-ver Doctor's
face--he was looking so hard and so long at nothing at all.

Everything in the room was feeling lonesome and guilty and bad;
and worst of all was the clock. It was a big, upright, colonial
clock, and its counting of time was done with deep and stately
deliberation. If he would only strike the hour, that would help.
David remembered with what dignity the clock could strike. The
brazen reverberations of each stroke always lingered awhile
before the next one came, and then, when all of them had been
struck, and the last ringing beat had throbbed and swooned into a
whisper, and died, one always felt that other strokes would
follow. One looked for them, and waited for them, but they did
not come. To-day nothing seemed to come but the regular, echoing,
church-like tick-tock, and to-day there was no diversion of any
kind; there was only a large, dark, depressing awesomeness.

It is very scareful for a little boy when he