“Now you are ten.” The doctor’s words came in a whisper. “You are on roller skates. You are at home by the fire. You speed in an automobile. Are you terribly afraid?”
Still no answer. Still the music, now faint, now strong, came floating through the open window.
“Now you are six.” The doctor’s eyes shone. “You are by the fireside. You are in your own small room. It is night. Does—”
Of a sudden there came a scream so piercing that Florence leaped to her feet. It was the boy. His face was distorted by an agony of fear.
“What? What is it?” The doctor was bending over the boy. “What frightens you?”
“The dog!” the boy cried. “The big shaggy dog! Don’t let him in! He will bite me!”
“No! No! You are mistaken. That is a kind dog. He will not bite you. He has never harmed any one. You must learn to love the good old shaggy fellow.”
The lines of distortion began to disappear from the boy’s face. There was a question and a gleam of hope in his eyes.
Through the window, borne on the breeze, there floated the notes of a song,
“Silent night, silent night,