"Blanche Aurora."
"Well, you're a very kind little girl. Do you say that jelly is for me?"
"Yes, and you'd better eat it right off, O King, 'cause the middle o' the mornin' is the time for snacks. I've got a spoon in here,"—she took off the napkin and revealed it. "If you eat it now, you see, I can take the bowl back; 'cause if it once gits in with Luella's things, no tellin' when we'd ever see it again."
King's gray eyes twinkled. "Blanche Aurora, you're a joy," he declared mildly, "and never in my life have I seen anything look so good as that jelly."
"It is good, O King," admitted the visitor, stentorianly modest. "It's got orange juice in it, too."
"Then, get that chair over there under the tree, and bring it here where you'll be more sociable; and would you mind getting the pillow out of the other hammock so I can be royally propped up. If I'm a king, nothing's too good for me, eh?"
"Of course, nothin's too good for you," declared Blanche Aurora solemnly, as she carried out his directions.
"I'm afraid somebody has been—well—stringing you, to put it informally, concerning myself," remarked the invalid when his visitor had propped his shoulders to her liking. "If my head should lie any uneasier if it wore a crown, the game wouldn't be worth the candle. Could you pull that pillow a little higher—there, that's fine. Now, then, for the jelly."
The visitor took it from the chair, and handing it to him, seated herself, with her demurest company manner.
"One thing more, you good child. Can you tuck the end of that rug under my feet?"