I knew Father was just joking, by the eyelid and the corner of his mouth, but the Idol drew himself up according to the old portrait again before he spoke.

“Mr. Forsythe” he said, “I haven’t any secret that Phyllis can’t know.  If she accidentally gave this one away to Rogers—­she can the next, and the next.”  He took my hand again and drew me close to him.  To think that that wonderful Idol should feel like that about insignificant me!

And father looked as impressed as he ought to have been, and begged my pardon in the proper manner; only I saw the bat in his eyes that showed how amused he was.

“Well,” he said slowly, “Phyllis is a dangerous person to tell secrets to, or even to live an ordinary life before.  Her penetration is so keen that she sees a man in his true character—­and gets a thousand dollars from him for her estimate of his personality.  I am glad to buy the opinion of me that you sent your cousin Gilmore at a thousand dollars, Phyllis,—­it is worth more than that to me—­from you!” His eyes were very tender to me though then, laughing:  “Want to see yourself as she sees you in this thousand-dollar book I’m going to have printed, Byrd?” he asked teasingly.

“Oh, no!” I gasped; “I hoped he would never see that!  Don’t give him one, if you bought it.  Don’t even talk about it!” Let’s go telegraph the doctor—­we have forgotten the eyes too long now.”

“That will not be necessary,” said Father, with the lovely look that comes into his face when Lovelace Peyton is even mentioned.  “When I read your letter to Gilmore, I hunted around immediately and brought the best man in New York with me to see to those eyes.  He is over at the house getting rested and ready, and will have to make his examination in less than an hour now, so you two had better hustle to get Dr. Byrd ready for him.  Everything must be antiseptic.”

Antiseptic, with those fishing worms and the hen and the pet toad and the June bugs in his bed!  Roxanne fled, calling Uncle Pompey on her way.

“Then my thousand dollars won’t—­won’t be needed?” I asked with a contemptible feeling of disappointment that the Byrds had got so rich before I had been able to do this one thing for them.  I looked up at old Grandmother Byrd over the mantelpiece and said in my heart:  “You have won.”

But what happened then?  The Idol, with the comprehension which is one of the symptoms of all genius, turned to me quickly and put his arm across my shoulder.

“Phyllis,” he said, with his most wonderful eyes shining down into mine, “that check is going to the doctor just as soon as your Father gives it to you.  I told you that Lovey’s eyes would be more valuable if saved by you—­and—­and I meant it.”

I didn’t have to say anything, and I couldn’t—­he understood!  I just clung!

“Young idiots, both of you,” said Father; but he blew his nose violently, and I knew from experience how the lump in his throat felt.  “Now take me in to see Dr. Byrd.”