“Is that necessary?” “Of COURSE, it's necessary. You don't know Sam. He's as cunning as a weasel and can get away before you know it. Got to fool him. I always do. Told him more lies in one minute this morning than a horse can trot. Will you write the note?” Felix laughed. “Yes, just as soon as you go.” “And you won't hold on to the bronze?” “No, I won't hold on to the bronze.” “And you can get fifty dollars for this unexampled work of art? That, of course, is the ASKING price. Ten would do a whole lot of good.” “I cannot say positively, but I will try.” “All right. And now where's that darling child?” A laugh rang out from the top of the stairs, the laugh of a child overjoyed at meeting some one she loves, followed by “do you mean me?” “Of course, I mean you, Toddlekins. Come down here and let me give you a big hug. And I've got a message for you from that dried-up old fellow with the shaggy head. He sent you his love--every bit of it, he said. And he's found some more gewgaws he's going to bring up some day. Told me that, too.” Masie had reached the floor and was running toward him with her hands extended, Fudge springing in front. The old painter caught her up in his arms, lifting her off her little feet, and as quickly setting her down, his eyes snapping, his whole face aglow. The joy bottled up in the child seemed to have swept through him like an electric current. “And wasn't it a beautiful party?” she burst out when she found her breath. “And wasn't Uncle Felix good to make it all for me?” She had moved to O'Day's side and had slipped her hand in his. “Yes, of course, it was,” roared Ganger. “Why, old Sam Dogger was so excited when he went to bed, he didn't sleep a wink all night. He's thought of nothing else but parties ever since. He's getting up one for you. Told me so this morning.” The child's eyes dilated. “What sort of a party?” “Oh, a dandy party, but it's not going to be at night. It's going to be in the daytime. All out in the blessed sunshine and under the trees. And everybody is going to be invited--everybody who belongs.” The child's brow clouded. “Everybody who belongs? Why, can't Uncle Felix come?” “Certainly, he can come. He 'belongs.'” “And--Fudge?” “What, that little devil of a dog? Yes, he can come, if he promises to behave himself,” and he shook his head at the culprit. “And all the chippies can come. Lots of 'em, and perhaps a couple of robins, if they haven't gone away south. And there's a big Newfoundland dog, or was before he was stolen, that could have swallowed this gentleman down at one gulp, but he won't now. HE 'belonged' and always has. And, of course, you 'belong' and so does Sam and so do I. We go out every other week and sit under these very same trees. Sam paints the branches wiggling down in the water, and I do leaky boats. When I get the picture home, I put Jane Hoggson fishin' in the stern.” Masie rolled her eyes. “And you don't take her with you?” “No.” “Why?”