combined bring about Lionel's collapse. The plain-spoken village doctor orders him away for rest, and so the Professor and his young charge go to Clovelly, where they spend some bewilderingly delightful weeks of absolute idleness. The Professor's eyes have been somewhat opened by Lionel's break-down to the real state of the child, whom thereafter he treats with a certain rough kindness which wins him the boy's whole heart. Lionel cannot quite make it out—but he is grateful.
"He used to show his gratitude," we are told, "in odd little ways of his own, which had a curious and softening effect on the mind of the learned Cadman-Gore. He would carefully brush the ugly hat of the great man and bring it to him,—he would pull out and smooth the large sticky fingers of his loose leather gloves and lay them side by side on a table ready for him to wear,—he would energetically polish the top of his big silver-knobbed stick,—and he would invariably make a 'buttonhole' of the prettiest flowers he could find for him to put in his coat at dinner."
One can imagine the grim old gentleman being by turns astonished and touched by such attentions: the Professor indeed warms to the lad, and, when they return to Combmartin, bids him go and play instead of returning to his investigation of
