our little house, and his crutches are resting against the wall. They are
wonderful things manufactured by Frenchy, whom Dr. Grant considers as an
universal genius. When they were first brought to us I was inclined to
whimper a little, for I had a dreadful vision of them as a permanent
thing. It was a regular attack of what Daddy, in his sarcastic moments,
calls silly, female fears.

"Don't tell me he is always going to need them!" I cried to the doctor.

This man has a way of setting all doubts at rest. Just one look of his
frank clear eyes does it. I really am not surprised that these people all
just grovel before him.

"Not a bit," he answered decisively. "He doesn't really need them now,
but it will be a little safer to use them for the present. In a week or
so we will make a bonfire of them."

Daddy has been sitting as judge and jury over his poor leg. Such
measurings with steel tape and squintings along the edge of his
shin-bone, and such chapters of queries and answers! But now he is
perfectly satisfied that it is what he calls an A 1 job, and looks at his
limb with the prideful interest of a man who has acquired a rare and
precious work of art.

How can you possibly say that I must be yawning myself half to death and
longing for the fleshpots of Morristown? If I could have my own way I
would build an unpretentious cottage here, but of course I would insist
on a real bath tub. And I would come and spend the most pleasant months,
and cultivate my dear friends the populace, and those delightful Barnetts
and Frenchy's kidlet, who is a darling and my first real conquest.