Mary, reading the cruel words and never guessing the anxiety which had dictated them, grew white with anger. "I will never forgive father!" she said to herself, and went over to her husband and put her soft hands on his shoulders and kissed him.
"Carl," she said, "the—the little boy is sick"; his questioning look made her add, "Oh, he'll get well"—but she must have felt some unspoken recoil in her husband, for she cried out, in quick denial, "Of course I don't want anything to—to happen to him!"
They did not speak of Johnny's illness for two or three days; then Mary said, "If anything had happened, we should have heard by this time?"
And Carl said, "Oh, of course."
When Johnny was well again his grandfather's fear that Doctor King might "wonder," ebbed. "It's safe enough to take him," he said to himself; "he doesn't look like anybody. And if I adopt him I can see that he's properly educated—and it will scare Robertson to death!" he added, viciously, and showed his teeth. He even discussed adopting his grandchild with Doctor Lavendar:
"Mary hasn't done her duty," he said. "I've no grandchildren! I've a great mind to adopt some youngster. I'm fond of children."
"Good idea," said Doctor Lavendar.
"I've taken a fancy to that little rascal who lives just at my gate. Bright youngster. Not a cowardly streak in him! Quick-tempered, I'm afraid. But I never blame anybody for that! I've thought, once or twice, that I'd adopt him."
"And Miss Lydia, too?" Doctor Lavendar inquired, mildly.
"Oh, I should look after her, of course," said Mr. Smith. But it was still another six months before he really made up his mind. "I'll do it!" he said to himself. "But I suppose," he reflected, "I ought to tell Mary—and the skunk."