“I saw the doctor that makes bone people.  There was one for a sign at the pittalhos where we were—­”

“Hospital, child.”

“And he was undressed, even from out of his skin; you could, see clear through him.  I was scared, because I thought that the doctor would make mother and me into one, but he was nice and said he’d cure Dick.  We saw his bed all white—­”

“Wait till you know the secret.  I saved you a piece of pie—­Nan wanted it—­”

“I rode up in an alligator—­”

“Elevator.”

“And a man at the pittalhos said, ‘where did I get those dimple holes,’ and I said prob’ly they wasn’t fat enough to stuff it all—­he laughed though at that.”

And so they chattered on until they reached home.

CHAPTER VIII The Reward

    To help the sorry, hungry poor,
      Or ease a burdened one,
    Begins to bring the answer, when
      We pray “Thy Kingdom come.”

It all unfolded like a beautiful flower, and every one was interested in getting ready the Children’s Rest and Summer Training School, which was to be the name of the cottage.  In the midst of it all, Mrs. Stevens one day received from Japan a long and happy letter from Dorothy and her husband; and a mysterious box, which was smuggled away for the birthday, came for the children.

Dick was getting better every minute, and was looking forward with eager delight to the time when he should go to the Rest, well and strong.

In the Rayburn sitting-room one evening, the children were looking over a portfolio of photographs.

Aunty Stevens as usual was knitting, and laughing with them over the pictures.

Ethelwyn was showing them, for she had seen them before.

“This is Beethoven,” she announced, holding up one of the great masters.  “He isn’t very pretty, but I s’pose he made up in being clever.”

“He is sort of kind-looking,” said Beth, who always liked to say something nice about every one.

“He is better than pretty,” said Ethelwyn.  “He’s a very good musician.  He can play the piano.”

“Where does he live?”

“Paradise, I think.  Mebbe not, though.”

“I’m sorry for his folks.”

“This is Handel.”

“What of?” and Nan got up to look.

“Not a dipper-handle, but a man of that name.  He could play too.”

“He looks kind of like a woman—­look at his hair.”

“That is his wig.”

“Was he a bawheady?” and Beth got up to look more closely at the man who was afflicted like her beloved doll.

“I s’pose he must have been.  But it doesn’t show like your doll’s,” said Nan.

“This is a bust of Diana.”

“Where is she busted?”

“All but her head and shoulders.”

“Who did it?”

“A man I guess.  This is the ‘Kiss of Judas.’”

“Oh, isn’t Judas mean-looking?”