THE SPECTATOR 23 tell tlie Doctor he might come up this evening after his office hours to inspect my sketches and see if I could improve them in any way. ’ ’ Mary was Gerald’s twin sister. When their father died, he had left a family of five children and very little money to support them. Their mother, a well educated, refined woman, had declined aid from friends, had given up her comfortable apartments and secured a couple of cheap rooms in the tenement house and was earning an existence in the manner mentioned. Her baby, a delicate child, was not yet old enough to creep; the other two children, four and five years old; the twins, but eight. On this day she had gotten up feeling faint and dizzy, but so anxious was she to finish her work, that the strength of the ambition which burned in her soul had kept her working. “Can I finish them? Can I?” was the refrain running through her mind as she sat on the rug near the couch on which two other children lay taking their afternoon nap; Gerald, taking the blocks off the table, began to amuse the baby. Just then little Mary came in, a bag of apples in her hand. “Oh Mother, may we bake the apples for dinner?” she cried. “Oh goody, here’s Gerald! And the Doctor said he’d come right away, and he gave me this for the baby, ’ ’ she continued, speaking hurriedly, as she gave her mother a piece of money. ‘ ‘ Yes, you may bake the apples when the boys wake up. Now help Gerald amuse baby for awhile,” answered the mother, continuing her work. In this way the afternoon sped on, the shadows creeping darker and darker, until at last the children pushed aside the things they were doing and went into the next room to begin their apple baking. So happy were they laughing and talking that they did not hear the Doctor enter at the invitation of the quiet voice of tlieir mother. “Alice, how long are you going to keep at this? Let me look at you! Uli-huh! Just as I thought—aren’t well, are you? l r ou simply must put away this work and rest; you will be seriously ill if you do not.” “I cannot, Doctor, I simply cannot; I must finish these by tomorrow. Please don’t mind me, but look, at the sketches— criticise them as only you can, help me as you always do. I know I am ill but I’ll promise to rest when these are finished,” and she held out her work appealingly. The Doctor gave in, and for an hour he helped her, suggesting, praising, until at last he rose to leave. Gerald saw him and asked, “May I not give Uncle Doctor an apple, Mother?” and, upon her assent, he went to prepare it for the Doctor to carry with him.
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