Carol came forward. He looked very ashamed. He stubbed his toe on the braided rug.
"It seems to be our son Carol," said my Father, "who conjured up the picture of—of the blue larkspur!"
"What?" said the Blinded Lady. "What?"
She tapped her foot on the floor. She frowned her brows. "Well—well—well," she said. "It wasn't at all what I intended! Not at all!—Well—well—well!" She began to rock her chair. "But after all," she said, "an agreement is an agreement! And the First Prize is the First Prize!—Let the Little Dumb Boy step forward to the Chinese Cabinet and choose his Peacock Feather Fan!"
Rosalee gave a little cry. It sounded almost like tears. She ran forward. She whispered in Carol's ear.
Carol opened his eyes. He took a chair. He pushed it against the cabinet. He climbed up to the highest shelf. There was a fan as big as the moon! It was sandalwood! It was carved! It was all peacock feathers! Blue! Bronze! It was beautiful! He took it! He went back to his seat! His mouth smiled a little! But he carried the Fan as though it was hot!
"The second prize of course," said the Blinded Lady, "goes to the child who wrote about the soldiers!"
Rosalee stepped forward.
The Blinded Lady took her hand. "It is not exactly as I had wished," said the Blinded Lady. "But a Choice of Cats is a Choice of Cats!—You will find them all in the wood-shed Young Lassie—awaiting your decision! Choose wisely! A good cat is a great comfort!"