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." "Well; will you please come outside?
And I will point it out.