Hughie loved it all with a deep and faithful love. Secretly he played with the dolls' houses, and set the small china-headed dolls round the loaded tables for their silent meals with affectionate care. Pamela knew all about these matters, but she was far too loyal to betray the secret.
When she came into this big chamber of treasure trove she stood still and looked round. The fact that nobody was visible did not convince her that nobody was there.
"Hullo!" she said in a low voice.
"Hullo!" returned a small voice in an absorbed tone.
Pamela crossed the room and looked over a barricade of lumber. At first sight it seemed that a heavy oak dower chest, topped by a pile of boxes, was set against the wall. It was not. Between its bulk and the wall of the attic there existed a narrow space--so narrow that it would not appear possible as a retiring place even for the smallest boy.
Pamela looked over--as has been stated--and dropped a small paper bag.
"I brought you some chocolates," she said.
"Thanks," murmured Hughie in a slow drawl. Squeezed between the chest and the wall he was absorbed in most intricate stitchery. On his knee was set a cardboard box full of bits and scraps--both white and coloured--wee spars, small lengths of catgut, bits of fine wire. Also, sitting very upright, two neatly smiling dolls, with bran-stuffed bodies and china heads, dolls about three inches long--the large kind held no attractions for Hughie.
"How are you getting on, Midget?" asked Pamela with sympathy.
"It's rather trying," said the dressmaker, "their arm-sleeves fray out of the holes, and the button-holes are simply fearful. But they must have the things."