Masie alone noticed nothing. To her, "Uncle Felix,"
as she now called him, was always the same adorable
and comprehending companion, forever opening up to
her new vistas of interest, never too busy to answer
her questions, never too preoccupied to explain the
different objects he was handling. If she were ever in
the way, she was never made to feel it. Instead, so
gentle and considerate was he, that she grew to believe
herself his most valuable assistant, daily helping him
to arrange the various new acquisitions.

One morning in June when they were busy over a
lot of small curios, arranging bits of jade, odd silver
watches, seals, and pinchbeck rings, in a glass case that
had been cleaned and revarnished, the door opened and
an old fellow strolled in--an odd-looking old fellow, with
snow-white hair and beard, wearing a black sombrero
and a shirt cut very low in the neck. But for a pair
of kindly eyes, which looked out at you from beneath
the brim of the hat, he might have been mistaken for
one of the dwarfs in "Rip Van Winkle." Fudge, having
now been disciplined by Felix, only sniffed at his
trousers.

"I see an old gold frame in your window," began
the new customer. "Might I measure it?"

"Which one, sir?" replied Felix. "There are half
a dozen of them, I believe."