Perhaps it would do to say that the picture had fallen off itself and got broken, or maybe it would be better to say that the fairies had done it, or maybe—
Now, at last, David knew the thing to do, and did it. When the Doctor came into the room the little boy was sweetly but not serenely in his place. He was sitting upright in his chair, as though he had not stirred a hair's breadth during the man's absence, but in the eyes of David was a feverish lustre, and the little body of him was all of a tremble.
"I didn't understand about the crying," Dr. Redfield announced, and he was very humble. It did not seem odd to him that he should come to confessional before this little boy. He believed that he had judged too hastily, and he was come to make it right. "Maybe you were lonesome," he said. "Maybe you wanted Mother."
David said nothing, and the Doctor went on with that wistful tenderness which comes to us when we feel we have not been just with those we love.
"You do like me, don't you, David?"
But the little boy could not answer; he was crying so.