“Tap-tap” sounded the blinds which were drawn over the western windows.  A pleasant little breeze was trying to come in.  “Buzz” sounded a fly on the wall.  Bubble arose noisily and killed it with a resounding “thwack.”

“Wake the doctor, would you?” he said.  “Take that!”

But even the pistol-like report which accompanied the fly’s demise failed to ruffle the sleeper.  Bubble returned disconsolate to his stool.

“Smash,” he repeated, “smash is the word.  I see our finish.”

The pronoun which Bubble used nowadays was always “we.”  He belonged to the doctor body and soul, but it was no servile giving.  The doctor also belonged to him, and it was with this privilege of ownership that he now found fault with his idol.  Had any one else objected to the doctor’s afternoon rest he would have found reason and excuse enough; but in his own heart he was puzzled.  Such indifference to the appearances, such wilful disregard of “business” could hardly, he thought, be real; yet, for an imitation, it was remarkably well done.  Bubble admired even while he deprecated.

Why, he did not even go to church so that the minister might introduce him around as “Dr. Callandar, the new brother who has come amongst us.”  Neither did he walk down Main Street, nor show himself in public places.  When he went walking he went early in the morning and directed his steps toward the country.  About all the usual means of harmless and necessary advertising he did not seem to know Beans!  Bubble looked disconsolately out of the window.  There was Ann, now, coming across the yard.  School must be out, and still the doctor slept.

“Anybody in?” asked Ann in a stage whisper.

“Not just now.  Been very busy though.  Doctor’s resting.  Stop that noise.”

“I’m not making any noise!  He’s part my doctor anyway.  I’ll make a noise if I like—­”

“No you won’t, miss!”

“But I don’t like,” added Ann with her impish smile.  “If he’s asleep what are you staying here for?  Come on out.”

Bubble regarded the tempter with scornful amazement.

“That’s it!” he exclaimed, “jest like I always said, women haven’t any sense of honour.  What d’ye suppose I’m here for?”

“Not just to swing your legs,” placidly.  “He doesn’t need you when he’s asleep, does he?  Come on and let’s get some water-cress.  He’d like some for his tea—­dinner I mean.  Say, Bubble, why does he call it dinner?”

“Because he comes from the city, Silly!  They don’t have any tea in the city.  They have breakfast when they get up and lunch at noon and dinner about seven or eight or nine at night.  Then if they get hungry before bed-time they have supper.  The doctor says he never gets hungry after dinner so he don’t have that.”

Ann considered this a moment.

“They do so have tea!” she declared.  “I heard Mrs. Andrew West telling about it.  She said her sister in Toronto had a tea specially for her.”