Would I go—­would I go across the dead body of my father’s honor and my own and anybody’s disgraces and any other old thing?  I went so quickly that I upset Mamie Sue on the one side and Miss Priscilla almost on the other, and I didn’t even wait to answer the Idol in the reverent and respectful manner that is always his due and that I always observe.  Down that garden path I flew and over that wall I skimmed, like a bird with wings, or like the Idol himself, and in so little a time that I didn’t even realize the journey, I was in Roxanne’s room with her in one of my arms and Lovelace Peyton squeezed up in the other.

Roxanne choked her sobs down in my neck and I choked mine down in my heart as the little doctor kicked one fat little knee out from under the cover and began to squeal like a queer kind of pig as one of his arms went around and around.

“That’s the way I cried when that old Dr. Hughes hurt my eyes to make ’em well, Phyllie, and you wasn’t here to see him do it and tell me how red they looked and if they had got any blue around the edges like a carbuncle.  Roxy can’t tell disease like you kin, and now you was away from ’em and didn’t see the nice ones I have got in both eyes.”

The reproach in his voice was so funny and yet so sad that Roxanne and I both choked still more and held on to each other tight.  I just simply couldn’t say a word, and I was again made ashamed by that unruly lump in my throat that never seems to come unless something is the matter with the Byrds.

“I’m hungry, too, for some of the nice sweet charlock rookster that your cook makes me and I eats in the afternoon, right now.  I waked up in the night and wanted it and you, too, Phyllie, and I wouldn’t have old Doug or Roxy, neither.  Now, it is always night time and Roxy wouldn’t go and call you.  Won’t you stay with me always and read me about smallpox like you promised?

“Always night now!” Again Roxanne and I hugged and choked, but this time I had to conquer the lump and answer him.

“Indeed, indeed, Lovelace Peyton, I’m never going to leave you any more, only to go and get the things you want.  Can’t I go and get the charlotte russe for you now?”

“No, Phyllie,” he exclaimed, grasping with his strong little fingers my hand that lay on his pillow.  “I wants smallpox now worser than I do charlocks.  Then Tony can come and let me tie bandages around his leg while you go git the rookster and maybe some nice cake and oranges and candy.  No; Dumpie bringed me candy.  You git more rags to tie up folks with.  I want to fix Doug’s head good ’fore he goes to bed.  But read the smallpoxes right away.  Begin where they throws up.”

Roxanne got the book while I drew a chair by the bed and sat down to it, with gratitude drying the tears in my heart, for being forced into forgetting my pride and coming back to them again.  Roxanne sat by me and held my left hand until we got to the worst part of the smallpox, and then she got pale around the mouth and went out of the room.