"Oh-gay!...Pawsss!"

Mrs. Mayberry's school was letting out as Gibbons halted Buck in front of it. When he lifted Dora down, she seemed very tired, so he picked her up again. "Wait, Buck." The stragglers among the pupils stared but separated and let him through.

"Afternoon, Mrs. Mayberry." Gibbons had gone there almost by instinct. The schoolmistress was a gray-haired widow, fifty or more, who had outlasted two husbands, and was coping sensibly with her meager chance of finding a third, preferring to support herself rather than live with one of her daughters, stepdaughters, or daughters-in-law. She was one who shared Ernest Gibbons' enthusiasm for the hearty pleasures in life but was as circumspect about it as he was. He considered her sensible in every way-a prime prospect for marriage were it not for the unfortunate fact that they ran on different time rates.

Not that he let her know this. He had not been a disclosed Howard when they both had arrived in the first shipload, and, although freshly rejuvenated on Secundus when he had reappeared on Earth and organized the migration, he had elected to be thirty-five or so (cosmetically). Since that time he had carefully aged himself each year; Helen Mayberry thought of him as a contemporary, returned his friendship, shared mutual pleasure with him from time to time without trying to own him. He respected her highly.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Gibbons. Why, it's Dora! We missed you, dear; what happened! And- Is that a bruise?" She looked closely, said nothing about the fact that the little girl was filthy dirty.

She straightened up. "Seems to be just a smudge. I'm glad to see her; I fretted a little this morning when she didn't show up with the Parkinson children. It's almost Marjorie Brandon's time-perhaps you knew?"

"Vaguely. Where can I put Dora down for a few minutes? Conference. Private."

Mrs. Mayberry's eyes widened slightly, but she answered at once. "The couch- No, put her on my bed." She led the way, said nothing about getting her white coverlet dirty, went back into the schoolroom with him after he assured Dora that they would be gone only a few moments.

Gibbons explained what had happened. "Dora doesn't know that her parents are dead, Helen-nor do I think it's time to tell her,"

Mrs. Mayberry considered it. "Ernest, are you sure they both died? Bud would have seen the fire if he had been working his own fields, but he sometimes works for Mr. Parkinson."

"Helen, that was not a woman's hand I saw. Unless Marje Brandon has thick black hair on the back of her hands."

"No. No, that would be Bud." She sighed. "Then she's an orphan. Poor little Dora! A nice child. Bright, too."

"Helen, can you take care of her a few days? Will you?"

"Ernest, the way you phrase that is almost offensive. I will take care of Dora as long as I am needed."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to phrase it unpleasingly. I don't expect it to be long; some family will adopt her. In the meantime keep track of your expense, then we'll work out what her room and board should be."

"Ernest, that will come to exactly zero. The only cost will be aboout enough food to feed a bird. Which I can certainly do for Marjorie Brandon's little girl."

"So? Well, I can find some family to board her. The Learners. Someone-"

"Ernest!"

"Get your feathers down, Helen. That child was placed in my hands, her father's last dying act. And don't be a dumb fool; I know to the penny how much you manage to save. As well as how often you have to take tuition in food rather than cash. This is a cash deal. The Learners would jump at it-as well as several others. I don't have to leave Dora here-and won't, unless you are sensible."

Mrs. Mayberry looked grim-then suddenly smiled and looked years younger. "Ernest, you're a bully. And a bastard. And other things I never say out of bed. All right-room-and-board."

"And tuition. Plus any special expenses. Doctor's bills, maybe."

"Triple bastard. You always pay for anything you get, don't you? As I should know." She glanced at the unshuttered windows. "Step out here in the hall and seal it with a kiss. Bastard."

They moved, she placed Herself so that the angle, did not permit anyone to see them, then delivered a kiss that would have astounded her neighbors.

"Helen-"

She brushed her lips against his. "The answer is; No, Mr. Gibbons. Tonight I'll be busy reassuring a baby girl."

"I was about to say, Don't give her that bath I know you intend to until I get hold of Doc Krausmeyer and have him examine her. She seems all right-but she may have anything from broken ribs to a skull concussion. Oh, get her clothes off and sponge her a little for the worst of the dirt; that won't hurt her and it will make it easier for Doc to examine her."

"Yes, dear. Get your lecherous hands off my bottom and I'll get to work. You find Doc."

"Right away, Mrs. Mayberry."

"Until later, Mr. Gibbons. Au 'voir."

Gibbons told Buck to wait, walked over to the Waldorf, found (as he expected), Dr. Krausmeyer in the bar. The physician looked up from his drink. "Ernest! What's this I hear about the Harper place?'

'Well, what do you hear about it? Put down that glass and grab your hat. Emergency."

"Now, now! Haven't seen the emergency yet that wouldn't leave time to finish a drink. Clyde Learner was just in and bought us a round of drinks-bought this one you urged me to abandon-and told us that the Harper place had burned and killed the whole Brandon family. Says he tried to rescue them, but it was too late."

Gibbons briefly considered the desirability of a fatal accident happening to both Clyde Learner and Doe Krausmeyer some dark night-but, damn it, while Clyde would be no loss, if Doc died, Gibbons would be forced to hang out his own shingle-and his diplomas did not read "Ernest Gibbons." Besides, Doc was a good doctor when sober-and, anyhow, it's your own fault, old son; twenty years ago you interviewed him and okayed the subsidy. All you saw was a bright young intern and failed to spot the incipient lush.

"Now that you mention it, Doc, I did see Clyde hurrying toward the Harper place. If he says he was too late to save them I would have to back his story. However, it was not the whole family; their little girl, Dora, was saved."

"Well, yes, Clyde did say that. He said it was her parents he couldn't save."

"That's right. It's the little girl I want you to attend. She's suffering from multiple abrasions and contusions, possibly broken bones, possible internal injuries, a strong possibility of smoke poisoning-and a certainty of extreme emotional shock; very serious in a child that age. She's across the street at Mrs. Mayberry's place." He added softly, "I think you ought to hurry, Doctor, I really do. Don't you?"

Dr. Krausmeyer looked unhappily at his drink, then straightened up and said, "Mine host, if you will be so kind as to put this on the back of the bar, I shall return." He picked up his bag.

Dr. Krausmeyer found nothing wrong with the child, gave her a sedative. Gibbons waited until Dora was asleep, then went to arrange temporary board for his mule. He went to Jones Brothers ("Fine Stock-Mules Bought, Sold, Traded, Auctioned-Registered Stallions Standing at Stud") because his bank held a mortgage on their place.

Minerva, it wasn't planned; it just grew. I expected Dora to be adopted in a few days, a few weeks, some such. Pioneers don't feel about kids the way city people do. If they didn't like kids, they wouldn't have the temperament to pioneer. And as soon as pioneer kids stop being babies, the investment starts paying off. Kids are an asset in pioneer country.

I certainly did not plan to raise an ephemeral, or hold any fear that it would be necessary-nor was it necessary. I was beginning to simplify my affairs, expecting to leave soon, as my son Zaccur should show up any year.