“No, no, son. Doctor didn’t mean that,” said his sister.

“Finish your milk,” said David. “We’ll have some fun with the microscope.” And once again the child essayed to eat and drink a little.

But the languor and pallor grew in spite of all David could do for him, and as the weeks passed his large eyes burned more brilliantly and his thin form grew more meagre. Cassandra got in the way of keeping him up at the cabin with her, and when she went down to weave, he went also and used to lie on the bundles of cotton, poring over the books which David procured for him from time to time.

“What he gets in that way won’t hurt him. It’s not like having set tasks to learn, and he’s not burdened with any