All the sparrows watching the laboring trio from safe vantage points now rose with a soft whirr of wings and a quick chorus of twitters as Farvel opened the door from the Church and came out. A long black gown hung to his feet, but this only served to accentuate the paleness of his newly-shaven cheeks. "Ah, fine!" he greeted kindly; "the yard is beginning to look first-class." Then as the bearer of the telephone message now projected himself once more between the curtains of the drawing-room, this time to proffer a package, "Not for me, is it, my boy?--Get it, Ikey, please." He sat down wearily. Ikey moved to obey, squinting back over a shoulder at the clergyman in some concern. But the package in hand, he puzzled over that instead as he came back. "It says on it 'Mr. Farvel,'" he declared. "Ain't it so?" "Open it, old chap," bade Farvel, without looking up. Ikey needed no urging; and, his companions, once again welcoming an interruption, gathered to watch. Off came a paper wrapping, disclosing a box. Out came the cover of the box, disclosing--in a gorgeous confection of silk, lace, and tulle, with flowers in her flaxen hair, and blue eyes that were alternately opening and shutting with almost human effect as Ikey moved the box--a large and remarkably handsome lady doll. "_Oy, ich chalesh!_" cried Ikey, thrown back upon his Yiddish in the amazement of discovery. Farvel sprang up, manifestly embarrassed, reached for the box, and put it out of sight behind him as he sat again. "Oh!--Oh, that's all right," he stammered. "It's for Barbara." "Bar-bar-a?" drawled the boy. Then following a pause, during which the trio exchanged glances, "A little girl, she comes here?" "Yes, Ikey; yes.--Have you boys dusted the drawing-room? You know Dora's not here today." "No, sir." Peter and Henry backed dutifully toward the door of the Rectory. But Ikey stood his ground. "Does de little girl come by de basket?" he inquired. "No, son; no. Dora will bring her.--Now run along like a good chap." Ikey backed a few steps. "Does--does she come to de Orphanage?" he persisted. "No. She's not an orphan.--You see that Peter and Henry put everything in shape, won't you?" At this, Peter and Henry disappeared promptly. But Ikey only backed another step or two. "Den she's got a mutter?" he ventured. "Oh, yes--yes.--Be sure and dust the library." Ikey gave way another foot. "Und also a fader?" "Er--why--yes." Now Ikey nodded, and turned away. "He ain't so sure," he observed sagely, "aboudt de fader." At this moment, loud voices sounded from the drawing-room--Henry's, expostulating; next, the thin soprano of Peter; then a woman's, "Where is he, I say? I want to see him!" And she came bursting from the house, almost upsetting Ikey.