“I am sorry if you are angry about my coming, father,” he said, a little tremulously.  “Something seems to have happened to mother during the last few days.  Everything that I do displeases her.”

“I am not angry,” Burton declared, after a moment’s amazed silence.  “The only thing is,” he added, glancing helplessly around, “I don’t know what to do with you.  I have no servants here and only my one little bed.”

The child smiled.  He appeared to consider these matters unimportant.

“You eat things sometimes, I suppose, daddy?” he said, apologetically.  “I left home before breakfast this morning and it took me some time to find my way here.”

“Sit down for five minutes,” Burton directed him, “and I’ll take you out somewhere.”

Burton was glad to get into the privacy of his small bedroom and sit down for a moment.  The thing was amazing enough when it had happened to himself.  It was, perhaps, more amazing still to watch its effect upon Mr. Waddington.  But certainly this was the most astounding development of all!  The child was utterly transformed.  There was no sign of his mother’s hand upon his clothes, his neatly brushed hair or his shiny face.  His eyes, too, seemed to have grown bigger.  Alfred had been a vulgar little boy, addicted to slang and immoderately fond of noisy games.  Burton tried to call him back to his mind.  It was impossible to connect him in any way with the child whom, through a crack in the door, he could see standing upon a chair the better to scrutinize closely the few engravings which hung upon the wall.  Without a doubt, a new responsibility in life had arrived.  To meet it, Burton had a little less than two pounds, and the weekly money to send to Ellen within a few days.  He took Alfred out to luncheon.

“I am afraid,” he said, beginning their conversation anew, “that even if I am able to keep you with me for a short time, you will find it exceedingly dull.”

“I do not mind being dull in the least, father,” the boy replied.  “Mother is always wanting me to play silly games out in the street, with boys whom I don’t like at all.”

“I used to see you playing with them often,” his father reminded him.

The child looked puzzled.  He appeared to be trying to recollect something.

“Daddy, some things in the world seem so funny,” he said, thoughtfully.  “I know that I used to like to play with Teddy Miles and Dick, hopscotch and marbles, and relievo.  Relievo is a very rough game, and marbles makes one very dirty and dusty.  Still, I know that I used to like to play those games.  I don’t want to now a bit.  I would rather read.  If you are busy, daddy, I shan’t mind a bit.  Please don’t think that you will have to play with me.  I want to read, I shall be quite happy reading all the time.  Mr. Denschem has given me a list of books.  Perhaps you have some of them.  If not, couldn’t we get some out of a library?”