“Where did you get him? Is he a real darkey?” some one asked Mr. Barstow. “Get him? I didn’t get him; he came. It is that rascal, Reed Marshall. He insisted that he must go when I wanted him to stay. Now I see what he was up to. He said he’d come back and help; he’s doing it. Go to it, boy,” he called out. “Give us a buck and wing. Keep it up.” The order was obeyed, the youth showing such a knowledge of his steps that the applause was loud and long. As soon as it was over the young man made his way to where Mr. Barstow stood with Ellen. “Well, Uncle Pete,” he said, “I told you I’d be back to help, and here I am. Did I put it over all right?” “You sure did, son,” returned Mr. Barstow, smiling. “Come here, Reed; I want to present you to Miss Ellen North. She is the daughter of one of my old cronies, just as you are the son of another. Now make yourself agreeable to Ellen while I go hunt up Steve Kendall; he is going to play Santa Claus. You may not recognize Reed when you meet him again, Ellen, but that’s no matter. His get-up doesn’t affect his character at all, nor go so far as to color his speech.” He went off, and the young man sat down by Ellen on the divan. He looked at her with a smile that resembled a grin because of the dark surroundings of his white teeth. “We should be friends because we are both children of cronies; you are a cronette and I am a cronine. I shall call you Cronette, henceforth. Isn’t Uncle Pete the jolly little playmate? Have you known him long?” “Oh, yes, always. He and my father were students together in Spain, and Daddy always called him Don Pedro, which is what I call him. Where did you learn to do those dances?” “Down on de Easte’n Sho. Das whar I comes from, chile. Is you a dancer, Sis’ Cronette?” Ellen laughed. “I used to be, but since I have been living in Marshville I haven’t had much chance to do anything so frivolous. My cousin with whom I live believes in making me practical. The utilitarian alone appeals to her.” “So Useful is your front name.” “Exactly: Useful Ellen.” “I like Cronette better. Say, I’d like mighty well to paint you. Can you give me a chance? Your coloring goes to my head. Will you sit for me?” “I’m afraid I can’t during these holidays. You see I am visiting Mrs. Austin, and she has planned out all sorts of things for me to do while I am here. You’d better ask her.” “So I do, Sis’ Cronette, an’ efen it please her sagacity, I sho mek a little one o’ dese yer studies.” “You are an artist, then?” “Trying to be. I goes to de League, an’ some o’ dese days I’se gwine to Eu’ope. Yuh been to Eu’ope, Sis’ Cronette?” “I came near it, but I never got there.” “Huccome?” “My mother and I were going over to join my father, but he came home to—to die. He was wounded and gassed, you know.” The grin faded from Reed’s face. “I didn’t know, but I do know that he was a mighty good artist. I’ve always liked his work tremendously.” “Oh, I am so glad. You have seen it here?”