“Die?  Of course not.”

“Would you be sorry if I did?”

“Yes.  If you died you couldn’t like me any more.  And I want everybody to like me and think me pretty.”

“I’m glad I’m not.  It would be tough on Dad.”

“My Uncle Guardy thinks your father is a bad man,” said the fairy, not without a spice of malice.

Up rose the patient from his pillow.  “Then I hate him.  He’s a liar.  My Dad is the best man in the world.”  A brighter hue than fever burnt in his cheeks, and his hand went to his shoulder.  “I won’t have his bandages on me,” he cried.

But she had thrown herself upon his arm, and pushed him back.  “Oh, don’t!  Please don’t,” she besought.  “Uncle Guardy told me to keep you perfectly quiet.  And I’ve made you sit up—­”

“What’s all this commotion?” demanded Dr. Elliot brusquely, from the door.

“You said my father was a bad man,” cried the outraged patient.

“Lie back, youngster.”  The physician’s hand was gentle, but very firm.  “I don’t recall saying any such thing.  Where did you get it?”

“I said you thought he was a bad man,” declared the midget girl.  “I know you do.  You wouldn’t have spoken back to him down in the square if you hadn’t.”

Her uncle turned upon her a slow, cool, silent regard.  “Esme, you talk too much,” he said finally.  “I’m a little ashamed of you, as a nurse.  Take your place there by the bedside.  And you, young man, shut your ears and eyes and go to sleep.”

Hardly had the door closed behind the autocrat of the sick-room, when his patient turned softly.

“You’re crying,” he accused.

“I’m not!” The denial was the merest gasp.  The long lashes quivered with tears.

“Yes, you are.  He was mean to you.”

“He’s never mean to me.”  The words came in a sobbing rush.  “But he—­he—­stopped loving me just for that minute.  And when anybody I love stops loving me I want to die!”

The boy’s brown hands crept timidly to her arm.  “I like you awfully,” he said.  “And I’ll never stop, not even for a minute!”

“Won’t you?” Again she was the child coquette.  “But we’re going away to-night.  Perhaps you won’t see me any more.”

“Oh, yes, I shall.  I’ll look for you until I find you.”

“I’ll hide,” she teased.

“That won’t matter, little girl.”  He repeated the form softly and drowsily.  “Little girl; little girl; I’d do anything in the world for you, little girl, if ever you asked me.  Only don’t go away while I’m asleep.”

Back of them the door had opened quietly and Professor Certain, who, with Dr. Elliot, had been a silent spectator of the little drama, now closed it again, withdrawing, on the further side, with his companion.

“He’ll sleep now,” said the physician.  “That’s all he needs.  Hello!  What’s this?”

In a corner of the sofa was a tiny huddle, outlined vaguely as human, under a faded shawl.  Drawing aside the folds, the quack disclosed a wild little face, framed in a mass of glowing red hair.