"You know, Canon, we have succeeded in bringing to the port of New York the Abydos Sphinx--a marvellous, gigantic creature. It is to be placed in Central Park, in the Mall." This, Canon Prynne had heard. "The base pedestal and fixtures are to be yours, Cedersholm?" The sculptor nodded. "Yes, and manual labour such as this is tremendous. If I were in France, now, or in Italy, I could find chaps to help me. As it is, I work alone." After a pause, he said, "However, I like the sole responsibility." "Now, I am not sure," returned his companion, "whether it is well to like too sole a responsibility. As far as _I_ am concerned, no sooner do I think myself important than I discover half a dozen persons in my environment to whom I am doing a wrong, if I do not invite them to share my glory." There was no one in the small room to which the gentlemen had withdrawn, and their chat was suddenly interrupted by a small, clear voice asking, "Is this Mr. Cedersholm?" Neither guest had seen steal into the room and slip from the shadow to where they sat, a little girl, slender, overgrown, in a ridiculously short dress, ridiculous shoes and stockings, her arms full of treasures, her dark hair falling around her glowing cheeks, in terror of being caught and banished and punished; but ardent and determined, she had nevertheless braved her father's displeasure. Bella fixed her eyes on the sculptor and said rapidly-- "Excuse me for coming to father's party, but I am in a great hurry. I want to speak to you about my Cousin Antony. He is a great genius," she informed earnestly, "a sculptor, just like you, only he can't get any work. If he had a chance he'd make _perfectly beautiful_ things." The other gentleman put out his hand and drew the child to him. Unused to fatherly caress, Bella held back, but was soon drawn within the Canon's arm. She held out her treasures: "He did these," and she presented to Cedersholm the white cast of her own foot. "Cousin Antony explained that it is only a cast, and that anybody could do it, but it _is_ awfully natural, isn't it? only so deadly white." She held out a sheet of paper Fairfax had left at the last lesson. It bore a sketch of Bella's head and several decorative studies. Cedersholm regarded the cast and the paper. "Who is Cousin Antony, my child?" asked the Canon. "Mother's sister's son, from New Orleans--Antony Fairfax." Cedersholm exclaimed, "Fairfax; but yes, I have a letter from a Mr. Fairfax. It came while I was in France." The drawing and the cast in Cedersholm's possession seemed to have found their home. Bella felt all was well for Cousin Antony. "Oh, listen!" she exclaimed, eagerly, "listen to our blackbird. Isn't it perfectly beautiful?" "Divine indeed," replied the clergyman. "Are you Carew's little daughter?" "Bella Carew. And I must go now, sir. Arabella is my real name."