PETER.  As an antidote.  I was growing to be a fussy bachelor, with queer notions.  You are young, but see that you don’t need the Doctor, James.  Do you know how I was cured?  I’ll tell you.  One day, when I had business in the city, the Doctor went with me, and before I knew what he was at—­he had marched me into a home for babies....  Katie was nearest the door—­the first one.  Pinned over her crib was her name:  “Catherine Staats, aged three months.”  She held out her little arms ... so friendless—­so pitiful—­so alone—­and I was done for.  We brought her back home, the Doctor, a nurse and I. The first time I carried her up those stairs—­all my fine bachelor’s ideas went out of my head.  I knew then that my theories were all humbug.  I had missed the child in the house who was to teach me everything.  I had missed many children in my house.  From that day, I watched over her life. [Rising, pointing towards the head of the stairs.] James, I was born in this house—­in the little room where I sleep; and her children shall one day play in the room in which I was born....  That’s very pretty, eh? [Wipes his eyes, sentimentally.] I’ve always seen it that way.

JAMES. [Coolly.] Yes; it’s very pretty if it turns out well.

PETER.  How can it turn out otherwise?

JAMES.  To me, sir, it’s not a question of sentiment—­of where her children shall play, so long as they play happily.

PETER.  What?  Her children can play anywhere—­in China if they want to!  Are you in your senses?  A fine reward for giving a child all your affection—­ to live to see her children playing in China.  No, sir!  I propose to keep my household together, by your leave. [Banging his clenched fist on the desk.] It’s my plan. [Cleans his pipe, looking at JAMES from time to time. JAMES posts the letters in a mail-box outside the door. PETER goes to the window, calling off.] Otto!  Run to the office and tell Mr. Frederik he may come in now. [The voice of a gruff Dutchman:  “Het is pastoor’s dag." (It is the pastor’s day.)] Ah, yes; I had forgotten.  It’s William’s day to take flowers to the Pastor. [A knock is heard and, as PETER calls “Come in," WILLIAM, a delicate child of eight, stands timidly in the doorway of the dining-room, hat in hand.] How are you to-day, William? [Pats WILLIAM on the shoulder.

WILLIAM.  The Doctor says I’m well now.

PETER.  Good!  Then you shall take flowers to the church. [Calls off.] A big armful, Otto!

MARTA has entered with a neatly folded, clean handkerchief which she tucks into WILLIAM’S breast pocket.

PETER. [In a low voice, to JAMES.] There’s your example of freedom!  William’s mother, old Marta’s spoiled child, was free.  You remember Annamarie, James?—­let to come and go as she pleased.  God knows where she is now ... and here is William with the poor old grandmother....  Run along with the flowers, William. [Gives WILLIAM some pennies as he goes.] How he shoots up, eh, Marta?