"I will take my book to show him," she said; and running to the house for
it, forgetful of everything but her longing for sympathy, a few minutes
later she flitted down the driveway and out of the gate.




CHAPTER SEVENTH.

THE MAGICIAN MAKES TEA.

"--If that love or gold
Can in this place buy entertainment,
Bring us where we may rest ourselves and feed;
Here's a young maid with travel much oppress'd
And faints for succour."


The magician was at work in his small garden adjusting some wire netting
for the sweet peas, while Curly Q. looked on with interest, and Crisscross
finished his saucer of milk.

Rosalind came through the shop so softly that only the cat was aware of
it. He gazed at her in evident doubt whether to continue work on the rim
of his saucer or take refuge on the fence.

"I should like to have a little house, and a dog and cat to live with me,"
she thought, sitting down on the step to wait till she should be
observed. Yes, this was more like the Forest of Arden than any place she
knew; her unhappiness seemed melting away in the peaceful atmosphere.