I--oh, Dr. Lavendar! I want David; I am sure
nobody can do more for him than I can. Nobody can love him as I do!
And I think he would be pretty homesick for me, too, if I did not take
him. But--"
"Yes?"
She tried to smile; then spread her handkerchief on her knee, and
folded it over and over with elaborate self-control. "Dr. King
thinks--I ought not to have him. He says," she stopped; the effort to
repeat William King's exact words drove the color out of her face. "He
says he made a mistake in advising you to give David to me. He
thinks--"
she caught her breath with a gasp;--"I am not to be trusted to--to
bring him up." She trembled with relief; the worst was over. She had
kept her promise, to the letter. Now she would begin to fight for her
child: "You will let me have him? You will!--Please say you will, Dr.
Lavendar!"
"Why does Dr. King think you are not to be trusted?" said Dr.
Lavendar.
"Because," she said, gathering up all her courage, "he thinks that I--
that David ought to be brought up by some one more--more religious, I
suppose, than I am. I know I'm not very religious. Not as good as
everybody in Old Chester; but I will bring him up just as you want me
to! Any way at all you want me to. I will go to church regularly;
truly I will, Dr. Lavendar; truly!"
Dr. Lavendar was silent. The lump of coal in the grate suddenly split
and fell apart; there was a crackling leap of flames, and from between
the bars a spurt of bubbling gas sent a whiff of acrid smoke puffing
out into the room.
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