about Fontenoy.  And he told Jacqueline what he was going to do when he was a man, and he asked her if she had ever read Caesar, and she had not, and he told her all about it.  And Jacqueline told him fairy tales, but he said they were not true, and that a harp could not sing by itself, nor a hen lay golden eggs, nor a beanstalk grow a mile.  He said he did not like lies,—­which wasn’t very polite.  He was older, you see, than Jacqueline, ever so much older.  But she knew how to dance, and she was taking music lessons, and so she seemed older, and he liked Jacqueline very much.  What is the matter, Uncle Edward?”

“Nothing.  Go on, child.”

“Then the summer was over, and Jacqueline came back to Fontenoy.  But the next summer, when she went to Cousin Jane Selden’s, there was the boy working in the tobacco on the other side of the stream.  And Jacqueline called to him from under the apple tree.  And then the month that she was to stay with Cousin Jane Selden went by, and she came back to Fontenoy.  And the next summer she didn’t go to the Three-Notched Road, but one day the boy came to Fontenoy.”

“Ah!” said the Major.

“The boy’s father sent him to pay some money that he owed to Uncle Dick.  Jacqueline says his father was an honest man, though he was so unkind.  And Uncle Dick sent for Jacqueline and said, ’Jacqueline, this is young Lewis Rand.  Take him and show him the garden while I write this receipt!’ So Jacqueline and the boy went into the flower garden, and she showed him the roses and the peacock and the sundial.  And then he went away, and she didn’t see him any more for years and years, not till she was grown, and everything was changed.  And—­and that is the end of the story.  But the boy’s name was Lewis Rand, and the man’s name, up in the blue room, is Mr. Lewis Rand, and I heard Mr. Fairfax Cary say that Lewis Rand was the Devil,—­but Jacqueline wouldn’t have liked the Devil, would she, Uncle Edward?”

“No, child, no, no!” exclaimed Uncle Edward, with violence.  He rose so suddenly from his chair, and he looked so grim and grey, that Deb was almost frightened.

“Didn’t you like the story, Uncle Edward?  I did like it so much when Jacqueline told it to me—­only she would never tell it to me again.”

“Yes, yes, I liked it, honey.  Don’t I like all your stories?  But I don’t like Mr. Rand.”

“Will he stay always upstairs in the blue room?”

“The Lord forbid!” cried Major Churchill.

The door opened wide, and Mr. Ned Hunter put in an important face.  “Are you there, Major?  Here’s the devil to pay.  Rand’s arm is broken and his ankle wrenched and his head cut open!  The doctor says he mustn’t be moved for at least a fortnight.  I thought you’d like to know.”  He was gone to spread the news.

Major Churchill stood still for a moment, then turned to the table, placed with deliberation a marker between the leaves of Swift, took up the volume, and restored it to its proper shelf.