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David walked with a sedater air。
〃David；〃 said I； with a sinking； 〃are you going to Pilkington's？〃
〃When I am eight；〃 he replied。
〃And sha'n't I call you David then； and won't you play with me in
the Gardens any more？〃
He looked at Bailey； and Bailey signalled him to be firm。
〃Oh； no；〃 said David cheerily。
Thus sharply did I learn how much longer I was to have of him。
Strange that a little boy can give so much pain。 I dropped his
hand and walked on in silence； and presently I did my most
churlish to hurt him by ending the story abruptly in a very cruel
way。 〃Ten years have elapsed；〃 said I； 〃since I last spoke； and
our two heroes； now gay young men； are revisiting the wrecked
island of their childhood。 'Did we wreck ourselves；' said one；
'or was there someone to help us？' And the other who was the
younger； replied； 'I think there was someone to help us； a man
with a dog。 I think he used to tell me stories in the Kensington
Gardens； but I forget all about him； I don't remember even his
name。'〃
This tame ending bored Bailey； and he drifted away from us； but
David still walked by my side； and he was grown so quiet that I
knew a storm was brewing。 Suddenly he flashed lightning on me。
〃It's not true；〃 he cried； 〃it's a lie！〃 He gripped my hand。 〃I
sha'n't never forget you； father。〃
Strange that a little boy can give so much pleasure。
Yet I could go on。 〃You will forget； David； but there was once a
boy who would have remembered。〃
〃Timothy？〃 said he at once。 He thinks Timothy was a real boy；
and is very jealous of him。 He turned his back to me； and stood
alone and wept passionately； while I waited for him。 You may be
sure I begged his pardon； and made it all right with him； and had
him laughing and happy again before I let him go。 But
nevertheless what I said was true。 David is not my boy； and he
will forget。 But Timothy would have remembered。
XXIV
Barbara
Another shock was waiting for me farther down the story。
For we had resumed our adventures； though we seldom saw Bailey
now。 At long intervals we met him on our way to or from the
Gardens； and； if there was none from Pilkington's to mark him；
methought he looked at us somewhat longingly； as if beneath his
real knickerbockers a morsel of the egg…shell still adhered。
Otherwise he gave David a not unfriendly kick in passing； and
called him 〃youngster。〃 That was about all。
When Oliver disappeared from the life of the Gardens we had
lofted him out of the story； and did very well without him；
extending our operations to the mainland； where they were on so
vast a scale that we were rapidly depopulating the earth。 And
then said David one day；
〃Shall we let Barbara in？〃
We had occasionally considered the giving of Bailey's place to
some other child of the Gardens； divers of David's year having
sought election； even with bribes； but Barbara was new to me。
〃Who is she？〃 I asked。
〃She's my sister。〃
You may imagine how I gaped。
〃She hasn't come yet；〃 David said lightly； 〃but she's coming。〃
I was shocked； not perhaps so much shocked as disillusioned； for
though I had always suspicioned Mary A as one who harboured the
craziest ambitions when she looked most humble； of such
presumption as this I had never thought her capable。
I wandered across the Broad Walk to have a look at Irene； and she
was wearing an unmistakable air。 It set me reflecting about
Mary's husband and his manner the last time we met； for though I
have had no opportunity to say so； we still meet now and again；
and he has even dined with me at the club。 On these occasions
the subject of Timothy is barred； and if by any unfortunate
accident Mary's name is mentioned； we immediately look opposite
ways and a silence follows； in which I feel sure he is smiling；
and wonder what the deuce he is smiling at。 I remembered now
that I had last seen him when I was dining with him at his club
（for he is become member of a club of painter fellows； and Mary
is so proud of this that she has had it printed on his card）；
when undoubtedly he had looked preoccupied。 It had been the
look； I saw now； of one who shared a guilty secret。
As all was thus suddenly revealed to me I laughed unpleasantly at
myself； for； on my soul； I had been thinking well of Mary of
late。 Always foolishly inflated about David； she had been
grudging him even to me during these last weeks； and I had
forgiven her； putting it down to a mother's love。 I knew from
the poor boy of unwonted treats she had been giving him； I had
seen her embrace him furtively in a public place； her every act；
in so far as they were known to me； had been a challenge to
whoever dare assert that she wanted anyone but David。 How could
I； not being a woman； have guessed that she was really saying
good…bye to him？
Reader； picture to yourself that simple little boy playing about
the house at this time； on the understanding that everything was
going on as usual。 Have not his toys acquired a new pathos；
especially the engine she bought him yesterday？
Did you look him in the face； Mary； as you gave him that engine？
I envy you not your feelings； ma'am； when with loving arms he
wrapped you round for it。 That childish confidence of his to me；
in which unwittingly he betrayed you； indicates that at last you
have been preparing him for the great change； and I suppose you
are capable of replying to me that David is still happy； and even
interested。 But does he know from you what it really means to
him？ Rather； I do believe； you are one who would not scruple to
give him to understand that B （which you may yet find stands for
Benjamin） is primarily a gift for him。 In your heart； ma'am；
what do you think of this tricking of a little boy？
Suppose David had known what was to happen before he came to you；
are you sure he would have come？ Undoubtedly there is an
unwritten compact in such matters between a mother and her first…
born； and I desire to point out to you that he never breaks it。
Again； what will the other boys say when they know？ You are
outside the criticism of the Gardens； but David is not。 Faith；
madam； I believe you would have been kinder to wait and let him
run the gauntlet at Pilkington's。
You think your husband is a great man now because they are
beginning to talk of his foregrounds and middle distances in the
newspaper columns that nobody reads。 I know you have bought him
a velvet coat； and that he has taken a large； airy and commodious
studio in Mews Lane； where you are to be found in a soft material
on first and third Wednesdays。 Times are changing； but shall I
tell you a story here； just to let you see that I am acquainted
with it？
Three years ago a certain gallery accepted from a certain artist
a picture which he and his wife knew to be monstrous fine。 But
no one spoke of the picture； no one wrote