"Fayette, you're as vain as a peacock. You always say 'ME' as if it were
spelled with the biggest kind of capital letters."

"Do I? Hmm," responded Fayette, with a vacant smile.

Then Amy went into the house where Hallam and Cleena were arguing about
what rooms should be arranged for the personal use of master and
mistress, because Hallam thought his father's likes and habits should
take precedence of all others.

During this time of separation from him, the son had grown to think of
his parent as a whimsical invalid, only. Oddly enough, with his own
physical infirmity, he had come to look upon any bodily weakness of
other lads or men as something almost degrading. He had always felt
himself disgraced by his own lameness. It was this which had given him
so bitter and distorted an outlook upon life, and involuntarily there
had crept into his love for his father a feeling of contempt as well.

Something of this showed in his talk with his sister, over this
selection of rooms, and shocked her. Then, with loyal indignation she
proceeded to enlighten him as to her own view of the subject.

"Now, see here, Hallam Kaye. I don't believe, I can't believe, and I
never will believe that from being a brilliant scholar and a wonderfully
talented artist my darling father has suddenly become a--a--the sickly,
selfish man you seem to imagine."

"Amy! I never said that. I never thought it. I only remember that he has
always had the best of everything, and I supposed he always should."

The tears of excited protest rushed into her eyes, but she dashed them
away. "Queer, I never cry, hardly ever, unless I'm mad. I am mad at you,
Hal Kaye, right straight clear through. You wait and see how father is,
after this trouble. All his life he has been petted by mother, who
adores him; and that not too agreeable cousin Archibald said the truth
about his having had so easy a path all his life. I tell you it isn't
for his children to sit here in judgment upon him, nor criticise
anything he does; but one thing I believe, he's had a good hard waking
up. He hasn't realized the truth. How should he? Mother has always
smiled and smiled and seen to everything. He was a genius. He was never
to be disturbed. He never has been. Not till now. Now he has been
tumbled off his cushions whack! and presently he'll get up--all right."

"Whe-e-ew! You don't mince matters in speaking of your relatives, do
you, sweet sister?"

"Not a bit. Just you wait. Al