words was never spoke to me, "you're a clever fellow, and a good fellow."
This he makes known to Sophy, who kisses his hands, claps her own, and
laughs and cries upon it.

We saw the gentleman four times in all, and when he took down my name and
asked how in the world it ever chanced to be Doctor, it come out that he
was own nephew by the sister's side, if you'll believe me, to the very
Doctor that I was called after. This made our footing still easier, and
he says to me:

"Now, Marigold, tell me what more do you want your adopted daughter to
know?"

"I want her, sir, to be cut off from the world as little as can be,
considering her deprivations, and therefore to be able to read whatever
is wrote with perfect ease and pleasure."

"My good fellow," urges the gentleman, opening his eyes wide, "why _I_
can't do that myself!"

I took his joke, and gave him a laugh (knowing by experience how flat you
fall without it), and I mended my words accordingly.

"What do you mean to do with her afterwards?" asks the gentleman, with a
sort of a doubtful eye. "To take her about the country?"

"In the cart, sir, but only in the cart. She will live a private life,
you understand, in the cart. I should never think of bringing her
infirmities before the public. I wouldn't make a show of her for any
money."