“What—­er—­yes—­no.  What do you know about it?” Jeff was up on his elbow now, staring at his uncle.

“All about it—­except that.”

“Charlotte tell you?  I didn’t think she——­”

“She didn’t.  I guessed—­and found out.  You may as well tell me the rest.”

“Isn’t it a shame?  Poor girl’s worked months on those things; just got ’em done.  You ought to have seen them; they were great.  I told her she could take them as they were, but she wouldn’t hear of it.”

“But where were they going?”

“To Mr. Murdock, at Chrystler & Company’s office.  He saw something of Charlotte’s once by chance, through a niece of his who’s Charlotte’s friend, and he sent word to Fiddle that she ought to cultivate that colour sense, or whatever it was, I forget what he called it—­for she had it to an unusual degree.  Charlotte has cultivated it for two years since then, and now—­oh, confound that baby!  That’s what you get for trying to be a missionary.  I wish we’d sent her to an orphanage right off.  What’s the use?”

“You don’t feel that ‘sweet are the uses of adversity’?  Sometimes they are, though, son.  The little second violin hasn’t given in and wailed about it; I saw no traces of tears.”

“No, you’re right you haven’t,” agreed Jeff, proudly.  “She’s not that sort.  She’s all broken up, though, inside, and I don’t blame her.”

“No.  Jeff, to-morrow—­it’s Saturday, isn’t it?  You must get those drawings early in the morning, while Charlotte is busy with her Saturday baking.  We’ll have a livery outfit, and you shall drive me down to Chrystler’s.”

“Uncle Ray!  You’re a trump!  It’s just what I said should be done.  The work shows perfectly well what she intended, and if a chap like you explains it——­”

Captain Rayburn limped away, laughing, his hand red with the tremendous grip his nephew had just given it.  It gave him great pleasure to see the way the boy invariably stood by his sister.  It was a characteristic of the Birch family, as a whole, which, it may be said, was worth more both to themselves and to the world at large than the possession of almost any other trait.

It was not until dinner was over that Captain Rayburn and his nephew returned, begging pardon for their tardiness, and explaining that they had taken luncheon in the city.

“Fiddle,” Jeff said, with a face of preternatural gravity, “come up to Uncle Ray’s room when the dishes are done, will you?”

He vanished before his sister could ask why, and before she could see the grin which overspread his ruddy countenance as he turned away.  But something he could not keep out of his voice roused her curiosity, and she made quick work of the dishes.

“Come in, come in!” invited Captain Rayburn, and Jeff rose from the couch, where his nose had been buried among some of his uncle’s periodicals.

There were always books and magazines by the Score wherever Captain Rayburn settled himself for any length of time.