o the Blue
Room, where little Fiddle slept in the Bannister crib that had been
brought down from the attic.

Becky and Randy went into the Bird Room and sat under the swinging
lamp. "I have something to tell you, Randy," Becky had said, and as in
the days of their childhood the Bird Room seemed the place for
confidences.

Becky curled herself up in the Judge's big chair like a tired child.
Randy on the other side of the empty fireplace said, "You ought to be in
bed, Becky."

"I shan't--sleep," nervously. There were deep shadows under her troubled
eyes. "I shan't sleep when I go."

Randy came over and knelt by her side. "My dear, my dear," he said, "I
am afraid I have let you in for a lot of trouble."

"But the things you said were true--he came--because he thought
I--belonged to--you."

She hesitated. Then she reached out her hand to him. "Randy," she said,
"I told him I was going to marry--you."

His hand had gone over hers, and now he held it in his strong clasp. "Of
course it isn't true, Becky."

"I am going to make it true."

Dead silence. Then, "No, my dear."

"Why not?"

"You don't love me."

"But I like you," feverishly, "I like you, tremendously, and don't you
want to marry me, Randy?"

"God knows that I do," said poor Randy, "but I must not. It--it would be
Heaven for me, you know that. But it wouldn't be quite--cricket--to let
you do it, Becky."

"I am not doing it for your sake. I am doing it for my own. I want to
feel--safe. Do I seem awfully selfish when I say that?"

A great wave of emotion swept over him. She had turned to him for
protection, for tenderness. In that moment Randy grew to the full
stature of a man. He lifted her hand and kissed it. "You are making me
very happy, Becky, dear."

It was a strange betrothal. Behind them the old eagle brooded with
outstretched wings, the owl, round-eyed, looked down upon them and
withheld his wisdom, the Trumpeter, white as snow, in his glass case,
was as silent as the Sphinx.

"You are making me very happy, Becky, dear," said poor Randy, knowing as
he said it that such happiness was not for him.

CHAPTER XI

WANTED--A PEDESTAL

I

The Major's call on Miss MacVeigh had been a great success. She was
sitting up, and had much to say to him. Throughout the days of her
illness and convalescence, the Major had kept in touch with her. He had
sent her quaint nosegays from the King's Crest garden, man-tied and
man-picked. He had se