“I suppose old Von Heim would have something to say of your way of doing clouds--but you got the effect, though--better than he did, sometimes. And that cow--I can see her breathe, I tell you! And the wolves--oh, don't sit there and smoke your everlasting cigarettes and look so stoical over it! What are you made of, anyway? Can't you feel proud? Oh, don't you know what you've done? I--I'd like to shake you--so now!” “Well, I don't much blame you. I knew I'd no business to meddle. Maybe, if you'll touch it up a little--” “I'll not touch a brush to THAT. I--I'm afraid I might kill the cow.” She gave a little, hysterical laugh. “Don't you think you're rather excitable--for a doctor?” scoffed Chip, and her chin went up for a minute. “I'd like t' kill them wolves,” said Johnny, coming in just then. “Turn the thing around, kid, so I can see it,” commanded Chip, suddenly. “I worked at it yesterday till the colors all ran together and I couldn't tell much about it.” Johnny turned the easel, and Chip, looking, fell silent. Had HIS hand guided the brush while that scene grew from blank canvas to palpitating reality? Verily, he had “builded better than he knew.” Something in his throat gripped, achingly and dry. “Did anybody see it yesterday?” asked the Little Doctor. “No--not unless the kid--” “I never said a word about it,” denied Johnny, hastily and vehemently. “I lied like the dickens. I said you had headache an' was tryin' t' sleep it off. I kep' the Countess teeterin' around on her toes all afternoon.” Johnny giggled at the memory of it. “Well, I'm going to call them all in and see what they say,” declared she, starting for the door. “I don't THINK you will,” began Chip, rebelliously, blushing over his achievement like a girl over her graduation essay. “I don't want to be--” “Well, we needn't tell them you did it,” suggested she. “Oh, if you're willing to shoulder the blame,” compromised Chip, much relieved. He hated to be fussed over. The Little Doctor regarded him attentively a moment, smiled queerly to herself and stood back to get a better view of the painting. “I'll shoulder the blame--and maybe claim the glory. It was mine in the first place, you know.” She watched him from under her lashes. “Yes, it's yours, all right,” said Chip, readily, but something went out of his face and lodged rather painfully in the deepest corner of his heart. He ignored it proudly and smiled back at her. “Do such things really happen, out here?” she asked, hurriedly.