THE SONG OF THE LARK
Thea curled up on her side and looked at him with pleasure. "All right. I like to be sick. I have more fun then than other times."
"How 's that?"
"I don't have to go to school, and I don't have to practice. I can read all I want to, and have good things,"—she patted the grapes. "I had lots of fun that time I mashed my finger and you would n't let Professor Wunsch make me practice. Only I had to do left hand, even then. I think that was mean."
The doctor took her hand and examined the forefinger, where the nail had grown back a little crooked. "You must n't trim it down close at the corner there, and then it will grow straight. You won't want it crooked when you 're a big girl and wear rings and have sweethearts."
She made a mocking little face at him and looked at his new scarf-pin. "That 's the prettiest one you ev-er had. I wish you 'd stay a long while and let me look at it. What is it?"
Dr. Archie laughed. "It 's an opal. Spanish Johnny brought it up for me from Chihuahua in his shoe. I had it set in Denver, and I wore it to-day for your benefit."
Thea had a curious passion for jewelry. She wanted every shining stone she saw, and in summer she was always going off into the sand hills to hunt for crystals and agates and bits of pink chalcedony. She had two cigar boxes full of stones that she had found or traded for, and she imagined that they were of enormous value. She was always planning how she would have them set.
"What are you reading?" The doctor reached under the covers and pulled out a book of Byron s poems. "Do you like this?"
She looked confused, turned over a few pages rapidly, and pointed to "My native land, good-night." "That," she said sheepishly.
"How about 'Maid of Athens'?"
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