“She is still asleep,” he announced, gravely. “I drew the netting over her face, so that the flies won't wake her.”
“That's right—that's a good boy.” Dearing rested his strong hand on the golden head and looked down into the child's face, and then he laughed as he caught the boy's arm and taught him how to contract his muscles.
“You'll be able to protect yourself, young man,” he said. “You have a splendid arm and fist already. I'd hate to have those knuckles try to knock a fly off my nose and miss the fly. Say, kid, do you see that big lot of mine beyond the fence? Well, you are going to play over there from morning to night: climb the trees, build houses out of that pile of old bricks. I'm going to have a swing put up for you to the highest limb of that big oak, and I'll make you a see-saw and a flying-jinny, and you may feed my puppies and cats.”
The boy's eyes danced as he stared eagerly. Dora was looking away, her handkerchief pressed to her face.
Dearing saw a wave of emotion pass through her, but she remained silent.
“But I couldn't go over there!” Lionel sighed. “You are very kind, but my mother always wants me to stay at home.”
“She is going to let you come, because I asked it as a special favor to me,” Dearing answered. “I'm the doctor, you know, and my orders go on this ranch.”
Wonderingly, the boy leaned across his mother's lap, and put his arm around her neck.
“Is he joking, mother dear?” he inquired, and he held his breath in visible suspense. “Does he really mean that I may play over there?”
“Would you like it, darling boy?” Dora asked. There was a tremolo in her voice, and she kept her handkerchief to her eyes. The child started, looked suspiciously at Dearing, and then, leaning toward his mother, he firmly uncovered her face. He saw traces of tears, and stood erect. There was a fierce, angry flare in his eyes, his lower lip quivered, as he turned upon Dearing and blurted out: