"Tie it to the stem," he commanded. "You're pretty slow," he added
gently, and indeed her white fingers blundered with the unaccustomed
task. When she had accomplished it, David wound the other end of the
thread round a pin stuck in the high black mantel-shelf. The apple
dropped slowly into place before the bars of the grate, and began--as
everybody who has been a child knows--to spin slowly round, and then,
slowly back again. David, squatting on the rug, watched it in silence.
But Mrs. Richie would not let him be silent. She leaned forward, eager
to touch him--his shoulders, his hair, his cheek, hot with the fire.
"Won't you come and sit in my lap?"
David glanced at Dr. Lavendar as though for advice; then got up and
climbed on to Mrs. Richie's knee, keeping an eye on the apple that
bobbed against the grate and sizzled.
"Will you make me a little visit, dear?"
David sighed. "I seem to visit a good deal; I'd like to belong
somewhere."
"Oh, you will, one of these days," Dr. Lavendar assured him.
"I'd like to belong to you," David said thoughtfully.
Dr. Lavendar beamed, and looked proudly at Mrs. Richie.
"Because," David explained, "I love Goliath."
"Oh," said Dr. Lavendar blankly.
"It's blackening on one side," David announced, and slid down from
Mrs. Richie's knee to set the apple spinning again.
"The red cheek is beginning to crack," said Dr.
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