The table had no comprehension of the greatness of the matter, but rose up at once, at seeing the father so moved. Roly brought his mug of sweetened milk along with him, Floss continued to bite at her crust of bread-and-jam, Miss Browne fluttered about, Hermie and Bart pressed at their father's elbow.
'Bring a chair, Bartie,' Cameron said, 'here at the cupboard in the hall.'
'Mine cubbub,' interjected Floss; 'me's hat in dere. Go 'way, daddie.'
'I'll climb up,' said eager Bart. 'What is it up there, dad?'
'Give me the chair—let me reach it down myself,' Cameron said, and stepped up and stretched his long arm to the top.
A dusty mustard-box! The children's eyes brightened with swift thoughts of treasure, then dulled when the lid was flung back and displayed nothing but a chaos of dirty oil-tubes and brushes.
But when they saw their father's glistening eyes, saw him fingering the same tubes with a tender, lingering touch, looking at the brushes' points, they did not tell him they were disappointed in the treasure. Instead, Bart led off with a cheer.
'Hurrah for daddie the artist!' he shouted.
'Hurrah!' cried Hermie.
''Rah!' shrilled Roly.