As he turned his head, the better to see his visitor, she burst forth in one breath: "I'm Miss Belinda Barry's help, Blanche Aurora Martin, Blanche Aurora for short, and I've brought you a snack, O King." The invalid turned, chrysalis and all, the better to view the bowl being extended to him. "Why--why"--he said, exhibiting broadly the teeth Linda had commended,--"somebody is being very kind to me." "It's Miss Barry; but I made the jell and she sent it with her compliments. Snacks is good for folks that's sick and delicate." As she spoke, the visitor was devouring the royal features with intent to verify her suspicion concerning the new photograph, and to understand the great man's influence on Miss Linda. "What did you say was your name?" "Blanche Aurora." "Well, you're a very kind little girl. Do you say that jelly is for me?" "Yes, and you'd better eat it right off, O King, 'cause the middle o' the mornin' is the time for snacks. I've got a spoon in here,"--she took off the napkin and revealed it. "If you eat it now, you see, I can take the bowl back; 'cause if it once gits in with Luella's things, no tellin' when we'd ever see it again." King's gray eyes twinkled. "Blanche Aurora, you're a joy," he declared mildly, "and never in my life have I seen anything look so good as that jelly." "It is good, O King," admitted the visitor, stentorianly modest. "It's got orange juice in it, too." "Then, get that chair over there under the tree, and bring it here where you'll be more sociable; and would you mind getting the pillow out of the other hammock so I can be royally propped up. If I'm a king, nothing's too good for me, eh?" "Of course, nothin's too good for you," declared Blanche Aurora solemnly, as she carried out his directions. "I'm afraid somebody has been--well--stringing you, to put it informally, concerning myself," remarked the invalid when his visitor had propped his shoulders to her liking. "If my head should lie any uneasier if it wore a crown, the game wouldn't be worth the candle. Could you pull that pillow a little higher--there, that's fine. Now, then, for the jelly." The visitor took it from the chair, and handing it to him, seated herself, with her demurest company manner. "One thing more, you good child. Can you tuck the end of that rug under my feet?" "Is your feet cold?" asked Blanche Aurora sharply as she jumped up and complied. "Do you wish you had a hot-water bag?" "I dare say Whitcomb brought one." "But the hens can lend you all you want," declared Blanche Aurora earnestly. "They don't need 'em this weather." "The hens? What sort of a place have I got into?" So the visitor explained Luella's invention, and King laughed till he was weak, while the little girl eyed him solemnly. "Do stop," he begged. "Spare me this last humiliation of being in the old hen's class. Now, Blanche Aurora, here goes." And he began an appreciative attack on the jelly. CHAPTER XXIV WHITCOMB'S CONFESSION