“’What’s the matter now?” said the medical man.

“’"Outside I’m sound as a dollar,” said my neighbor, “but it seems as if all hell had moved into me.”

“’Now, cares are like boils:  it don’t do to get rid of ’em too quick.  They’re often a great relief to the inside of a man, an’ it’s better to have ’em on the surface than way down in your marrow.’

“Bill an’ his wife looked into each other’s eyes for half a minute, but neither spoke.

“‘I’m goin’ to ask a favor of you,’ I said.  ’I see that there’s nobody livin’ in the old farm-house out back of the garden.  I wish you’d let me put my little family into it until I can build a home for ’em.’

“‘Oh, my!’ Mrs. Bill exclaimed.  ’Those children would be running all over the lawns and the garden.  They’d destroy my roses.’

“‘True; but, after all, they’re more beautiful than the roses,’ I urged.  ’They’re more graceful in form, more charming in color.  Then, too, roses cannot laugh or weep or play.  Roses cannot look up at you out of eyes full of the light of heaven an’ brighter than your jewels.  Roses may delight, but they cannot love you or know that you love them.  Dear woman, my roses will wander over the lawns.  Their colors will be flickering about you, and the music of their voices will surround the villa some days; but, God knows, they’ll look better, far better than the dogs or the bronze lions, or the roses.  I shall dress them well.’

“‘I think he’s right,’ said Bill.

“‘He’s most disturbing and persuasive anyway—­the revolutionist!’ said Mrs. Bill.  ’If it’s really a favor to you, Mr. Potter, I shall agree to it.  But you must have a trusty woman.  I really cannot assume any responsibility.’

“’I thanked her and promised to assume all responsibility, and Mrs. Warburton was to get the old house ready at once.

“Three days later I drove to the villa with my matron and the babies.  Rather quick work, wasn’t it?  I hadn’t let any grass grow under my plan.  When we lit at the front door every youngster broke out in a loud hurrah of merriment.  The three-year-old boy—­beautiful beyond all words—­got aboard one of the crouched lions and began to shout.  A little girl made a grab at the morning-glories on a Doric column, while her sister had mounted a swinging seat an’ tumbled to the floor.  The other two were chattering like parrots.  Honestly, I was scared.  I was afraid that Mrs. Bill would come down and jump into hysterics.  I snaked the boy off the lion’s back and rapped on him for order.  The matron got busy with the others.  In a jiffy it seemed as if they had all begun to wail an’ roar.  I trembled when a maid opened the door an’ I saw Mrs. Bill comin’ down the staircase.  I wouldn’t have been surprised to have seen the bronze lion get up an’ run.

[Illustration:  Three days later I drove to the villa.]

“‘The saints defend us!’ exclaimed Mrs. Bill, in the midst of the uproar.