ce of his happy kiss
on this first day of his good fortune, made her more maternal than she
had ever hoped to be in her life.

There was a note for him on the table upstairs, a note in a big envelope
with the business stamp of Mr. Carew's bank in the corner. It was
addressed to him in red ink. He didn't know the handwriting, but
guessed, and laughed, and drew the letter out.

"DEAR COUSIN ANTONY,

"I feel perfectly dreadful. How _could_ I do such a selfish thing?
I hope you will forgive me and come again. I drew two whole pages
of parlel lines after you went away, some are nearly strait. I did
it for punishment. You forgot the blackbird.

"Your little BELLA."

What a cad he had been! He had forgotten the dead bird and been a brute
to the little living cousin. As the remembrance of how she had flown to
him in her tears came to him, a softer look crossed his face, fell like
a veil over his eyes that had been dazzled by the visions of his art. He
smiled at the childish signature, "_Your little Bella._" "Honey child!"
he murmured, and as he fell asleep that night the figure of the little
cousin mourning for her blackbird moved before him down the halls of
fame.

CHAPTER XVI

Before Fairfax became dead to the world he wrote his mother a letter
that made her cry, reading it on her veranda in the gentle sunlight. Her
son wrote her only good news, and when the truth was too black he
disguised it. But after his interview with Cedersholm, with these first
good tidings he had to send, he broke forth into ecstasy, and his
mother, as she read, saw her boy successful by one turn of the wheel.
Mrs. Fairfax laughed and cried over the letter.

"Emmy, Master Tony's doing wonders, wonders! He is working under a great
genius in the North, but it is easy to see that Tony is the spirit of
the studio. He is at work from nine in the morning till dark, poor honey
boy! and he is making all the drawings and designs and sketches for a
millionaire's palace on Fifth Avenue."

"Fo' de Lawd, Mis' Bella."

"Think of it, we shall soon see his name in the papers--heaven knows
where he'll stop. How proud I am of my darling, darling boy."

And she dreamed over the pages of Antony's closely-written letter,
seeing his youth and his talent burn there like flame. She sent
him--selling her watch and her drop earrings to do so--a hundred
dollars, all she could get for her jewels. And the sum of money came
li