et's
fiddle from the long parlour in the other wing. Since the doctor was
come, the younger part of the gathering at Fontenoy had cheerfully
returned to its business. The dancing class was not long neglected.
Uncle Edward disliked France, disliked even monarchical and emigre
France. And he disliked all music but Jacqueline's singing, and disliked
the fiddle because Thomas Jefferson played it. He half rose to shut the
door and so keep out Mr. Pincornet's Minuet from Ariadne, but reflected
that the door would also keep out the doctor's descending voice and
final dicta delivered at the stair-foot. Uncle Edward was as curious as
a woman, and the door remained ajar. He tried to read, but the words
conveyed no meaning to his mind, which became more and more frowningly
intent upon the fact of Jacqueline's weeping. What had the child to weep
for? He determined to send to Richmond to-morrow for a certain watch
which he had in his mind,--plain gold with J.C. upon it in pearls. He
reflected with satisfaction that Cary as well as Churchill began with a
C.

The glass door led by a flight of steps down to the flower garden. Deb
came up the steps and into the library. "Kiss me good-night, Uncle
Edward. It's mos' seven o'clock. I've had my supper at the Quarter with
Aunt Daphne. The scarlet beans over her door are in bloom, and Uncle
Mingo told me about the rabbit and the fox. Miranda is going to put me
to bed because Mammy Chloe is busy in the blue room with the doctor and
the man whose horse threw him."

Uncle Edward put his one arm around the child and drew her close to his
chair. Deb touched with her brown fingers the sleeve that was pinned
across his coat. "Does your arm that is buried at Yorktown hurt you
to-day, Uncle Edward? Tell me a story about General Washington."

"No; you tell me a story."

Deb considered. "I'll tell you a story about the man upstairs in the
blue room."

"What do you know about the man in the blue room?"

"Jacqueline told me. She knows," answered Deb. "I am going to begin now,
Uncle Edward."

"I am listening," said the Major.

"Once upon a time there lived on the Three-Notched Road a boy, a poor
boy. He lived in a log house that was not so good as an overseer's
house, and there were pine trees all around it, and wild flowers, but no
other kinds of flowers. And in the trees there were owls, and in the
bushes there were whip-poor-wills, and sometimes a mockingbird, but no
other kinds of birds, and