"Poor uncle! he was in no way to blame," I answered. "Tell me, Constance, how it was that you came to leave Little Sandy?" I asked, flying from one thing to another, as people will whose minds are weak. "You had no thought of it when I came away." "No; but papa had grown to dislike the place. After my mother died he wanted to leave, and when your father and mother were gone, he was still more inclined that way. So when your Uncle Job wrote to him to come to Appletop, he did not wait to write, but taking everything, we drove across the country, following the route you took. When we got here we were disappointed not to find you, papa not less than I, for you know he has loved you as if you were his son since that day you saved my life." At this, too full for speech, I drew her to my side and kissed her. For the doctor would have it that I should lie in bed part of the day, to ease my heart, he said—though why my heart should need easing I could not understand; but doctors—once they get you at a disadvantage—exact all kinds of things of you, as every one knows, though for good reasons, it is probable, in most cases. "How long have you been in Appletop?" I went on, that I might still hear her voice. "We had only been here a little while when you came." "How did you find time to fix this room?" I asked, wondering, it was so like the other. "It gave us a lot of trouble, for carpenters are hard to get here; but papa is pleased, for it is dearer to him than everything else." "I know; and have you named this place the Dragon?" I asked, smoothing out her hair, which was ever inclined to fly apart as if impatient of restraint. "Yes; for any other would seem odd." "The sign, too, is it like the old one?" "Worse, because better painted, papa says. He does better in water-colors though." "Did he paint it?" "Yes." "Can he paint real pictures, too?" I asked, thinking how beautiful she was with the sun shining in her hair. "Yes, but no one is to know it," she replied; "though why, I don’t know." "No?" I answered, gazing on her dear form and thinking how much more fortunate I was than other youths, and all because of her love and tender ways. *CHAPTER XXXII* *CONVALESCENCE* One day when I was well on my way toward recovery, I was made happy by a visit from Mrs. Singleton. I could plainly hear her inquiries as she mounted the stairs, and so was in a measure prepared to receive the dear lady and respond to her loving embrace and multiplied questions when she finally entered the room. "You are feeling better, I know, for your looks show it!" she exclaimed, holding my hand and putting an arm about Constance.