Blanche Aurora never removed her eyes from her beneficiary. "The best jelly ever," he remarked between two mouthfuls. "You don't talk a bit like a king," she declared judicially. "Have you known many?" "Only in stories." "Somebody evidently has told you a fairy story about me,"--the speaker continued to eat industriously. "Who tried to induce you to believe that I was anything but an American rack of bones?" "I knew you was a great man, and they said King." "A great man, eh? How's that?" "And I believed nobody but a king could make Miss Linda cry." The gray eyes lifted for a look at the visitor before the eating recommenced. "Not guilty," said King. "She cried somethin' terrible 'cause you was sick." The memory seemed to make the small piquant nose tingle, for Blanche Aurora wiggled it and snapped the china-blue eyes. "She cries a good deal, I suppose." "She never cries," declared the small maid indignantly. "Why should anybody that can have anythin' in the world and do anythin' in the world _cry_? I didn't know Miss Linda could cry; but her beau came over--" The gray eyes lifted again, for a moment, but the convalescent's appetite appeared to be still ravenous. "--And she was walkin' with him, and she come into the house and told Miss Barry you was sick, and--" Again Blanche Aurora's nose and lips wiggled in grievous reminiscence. "Do you mean Mr. Frederick Whitcomb?" "That's him. He told me he was her beau, but I guess he ain't no longer. I don't believe"--a shrewd look coming into the blue gazing eyes--"I don't believe she'd cry like that about _him_, 'cause she never does cry." The addition was made with a return of indignation. "She's the beautifulest, kindest lady in the whole world." "H'm," mumbled King, over an extra large spoonful. "She give me this dress"--the speaker grasped a fold of the azure gingham--"and a pink one, too, and ribbons. She used to wear the dresses herself, 'fore her pa died. When she come here first I looked like a scarecrow." "My compliments, Blanche Aurora." King bowed toward his companion whose small white teeth gleamed in a face thrilled into vivacity. "You do Miss Linda credit." "So I wondered what you was like, O King--I mean Mr. King. I guess you're just plain Mister, ain't you?" "There never was a plainer." "And so, when I seen this new likeness on Miss Linda's table, standin' by her pa's, I wondered if perhaps 'twas you, and it is!" finished Blanche Aurora with all the triumph of a Sherlock Holmes. "I put a wild rose front of her pa every day, and says I to her this mornin', 'Shall I git a rose for the new picture, too?'--but she looked awful sad and she shook her head and says, 'I'm afraid not, Blanche Aurora. We need pansies for that'; and we ain't got a pansy on the place. I'm awful sorry." "Do you know, I don't believe I can quite finish this delicious jelly? I feel now as if my sweater wouldn't give any more."