"Take me in," he implored. "Father's dead, for I heard you all
crying; but I must kiss him once more."

"I don't think it will hurt him," observed Allan, in a low voice.
"He will only imagine all sorts of horrors--and he looks so
peaceful," motioning toward the closed door.

"I will be so good," implored the poor child, "if you only take me
in." And Allan, unable to resist any longer, lifted him in his arms.

I did not go in, for I could not have borne it. Carrie told me
afterward that Allan cried like a child when Dot nestled up to the
dead face and began kissing and stroking it.

"You are my own father, though you look so different," he whispered.
"I wish you were not so cold. I wish you could look and speak to me
--I am your little boy Dot--you were always so fond of Dot, father. Let
me go with you; I don't want to live any longer without you," and so
on, until Uncle Geoffrey made Allan take him away.

Oh, how good Allan was to him! He lay down by his side all night,
soothing him and talking to him, for Dot never slept. The next day we
took turns to be with him, and so on day after day; but I think Dot
liked Allan best.

"He is most like father," he said once, which, perhaps, explained
the preference; but then Allan had so much tact and gentleness. Fred
did not understand him at all; he called him odd and uncanny, which
displeased us both.