“It's a wonder you wouldn't send for him if you miss him that bad,” he remarked, after a minute, hoping the Little Doctor would not find anything amiss with his tone, which he meant should be cordial and interested--and which evinced plenty of interest, of a kind, but was curiously lacking in cordiality. “I did beg, and tease, and entreat--but Cecil's in a hospital--as a physician, you understand, not as a patient, and can't get off just yet. In a month or two, perhaps--” Dinner, called shrilly by the Countess, interrupted her, and she flitted out of the room looking as little like a lovelorn maiden as she did like a doctor--which was little indeed. “She begged, and teased, and entreated,” repeated Chip, savagely to himself when the door closed upon her, and fell into gloomy meditation, which left him feeling that there was no good thing in this wicked world--no, not one--that was not appropriated by some one with not sense enough to understand and appreciate his blessing. After dinner the Little Doctor spoke to the unsuspecting critics. “That picture which I started a couple of weeks ago is finished at last, and I want you good people to come and tell me what you think of it. I want you all--you, Slim, and Louise, you are to come and give your opinion.” “Well, I don't know the first thing about paintin',” remonstrated the Countess, coming in from the kitchen. The Old Man lighted his pipe and followed her into the parlor with the others, and Slim rolled a cigarette to hide his embarrassment, for the role of art critic was new to him. There was some nervousness in the Little Doctor's manner as she set the easel to her liking and drew aside the curtain. She did not mean to be theatrical about it, but Chip, watching through the open door, fancied so, and let his lip curl a trifle. He was not in a happy frame of mind just then. A silence fell upon the group. The Old Man took his pipe from his mouth and stared. The cheeks of the Little Doctor paled and grew pink again. She laughed a bit, as though she would much rather cry. “Say something, somebody, quick!” she cried, when her nerves would bear no more. “Well, I do think it's awfully good, Dell,” began the Countess. “By golly, I don't see how you done that without seein' it happen,” exclaimed Slim, looking very dazed and mystified. “That's a Diamond Bar cow,” remarked J. G., abstractedly. “That outfit never does git half their calves. I remember the last time I rode through there last winter, that cow--doggone it, Dell, how the dickens did you get that cow an' calf in? You must a had a photograph t' work from.”