"Cousin Betty; and she told us the story of Patricia's ring, Uncle Allan, don't you wish we could find it?"

Allan Whittredge smiled at the eager face. "I can't say I care much about it," he replied; then seeing her disappointment, he added, "It was a handsome old ring. Should you like to have it?"

"I'd like to see it; but of course it wasn't meant for me. Cousin Betty said--" Rosalind paused, for the expression on her uncle's face was more than ever like Aunt Genevieve, and he exclaimed impatiently, "Stuff!"

She felt rather hurt. She had expected him to be as interested in the ring as she was. What did he mean by "stuff"? And why didn't he like Friendship? Rosalind fell to pondering all this, sitting in the corner of the bench, looking down at her hands, crossed in her lap.

After some minutes' silence she felt her chin lifted until her eyes met the gaze of the merriest brown ones, from which all trace of disdain or impatience was gone.

"What are you thinking about so soberly? Are you disappointed in me, after all?"

Rosalind laughed. "I am just sorry you don't like Friendship."

"Perhaps it is because I have been away so long. I used to like it when I was a boy."

"Can't you turn into a boy again?"

"Perhaps I might, if you will show me how."

Rosalind clapped her hands. "I don't think I am a bit disappointed in you, and I am almost sure you will like the Forest."

"What forest?"

"I'll show you the book and tell you about it sometime; and then maybe you will join our society."

"This sounds interesting; I believe I shall like Friendship."

Rosalind surveyed him thoughtfully. "I think I'll begin by taking you to see the magician," she said.

By what witchery did she divine that the shortest path to his boyhood was by way of the magician's?

"The magician? Oh, that is Morgan, I suppose." Allan's eyes rested absently on the drooping hydrangea a few feet away.

Presently a soft hand stole beneath his chin, and Rosalind demanded merrily, as she tried to turn his face to hers, "What are you thinking about? Are you disappointed in me?"

"Not terribly," her uncle replied, and seizing the hand he drew her to him and gave her the kiss of friendship and good-fellowship.

Rosalind was fastidious about kisses. She reserved them for those she loved, and received them shrinkingly from those she did not care for; but in this short interview she had found a friend, and she returned the caress with an ardor of affection pretty to see.

Martin, announcing lunch, interrupted their talk, and, hand in hand, Rosalind and her new comrade walked to the house. In the exuberance of her content, she patted one of the griffins as she pa.s.sed. Her uncle observed it.

"Have you ever noticed the resemblance between Uncle Allan Barnwell and the griffins?" he asked.

The idea amused Rosalind greatly, and as she took her seat at the table, the sight of the haughtily poised head and eagle eyes of the portrait made her laugh. Things were indeed taking a turn when that stern face caused amus.e.m.e.nt.

With Uncle Allan at the foot of the table, luncheon was transformed into a festive occasion. Masculine tones were almost startling from their novelty; Rosalind found herself forgetting to eat. Grandmamma was wonderfully bright, and Aunt Genevieve showed a languid animation most unusual.

"It was like you, Allan, after putting us off so long, to end by surprising us," his sister said.

"I trust you intend to stay for a while," his mother added, almost wistfully.

Genevieve laughed half scornfully, as if she considered this a forlorn hope.

Allan looked at her a moment before he replied, "I don't know; I shall probably be here some time." He had more than half promised his friend Blanchard to join him in a trip over the Canadian Pacific in August. At present he felt inclined to give it up and remain in Friendship. He would not commit himself.

He thought it over lazily after lunch, resting in the sleepy-hollow chair by the east window in the room that had been his ever since he graduated from the nursery. All about him were devices for comfort and adornment that spoke of his mother's hand. She knew the sort of thing he liked,--his handsome, unhappy mother. It was a shame to leave her so much alone; yet she never complained, but seemed always self-sufficient and independent.

And then Allan began to reflect on the singular fact that he was seldom quite at ease with his mother, although he admired her, and at one time had been very much under her influence. If he had ceased to care for his home, it was her fault for sending him away for so long. "Poor mother!" he thought. "We have all disappointed her; but she was never quite fair to any of us. She wanted us to go her way, and, being her children, we preferred our own."

The sound of Rosalind's voice floated in at the window. He looked out. She was crossing the lawn, after an interview with Katherine through the hedge.

"When are we to begin?" he called.

"Whenever you like," she answered.

He went down and joined her in the garden, thinking what a difference she made in the place. He had not supposed a girl of twelve could be so charming; but then, she was his brother's daughter, with something of her father about her, and he had felt a little boy's admiration for this older brother.

Rosalind told him it was almost like having father or Cousin Louis to talk to; and as they wandered about the garden Allan found himself feeling flattered at her evident pleasure in his society.

She brought out her treasured book to show him, and explained about the Forest; and Allan listened absently, noting the soft curve of her cheek and the length of the dark lashes, his memory going back to that one occasion when he had seen the gentle and lovely girl who was afterward his brother's wife.

"And now we must go to the magician's," said Rosalind.

Not many of the inhabitants of Friendship were abroad in the middle of a summer afternoon, and they had the street almost to themselves when they set out. The quiet, the bowed shutters, the deserted porches, suggested a universal nap. Allan looked up at the tall maples, whose branches met across the road just as they had done in his childhood. Truly, there was a charm about the old town, with its homelike dwellings and generous gardens, he acknowledged to himself. "I believe we are the only people awake," he remarked.

"The magician will be awake," Rosalind replied; and so he was, rubbing down the clock case to-day, but by no means too much occupied for company, and he welcomed his visitors cordially, saying Allan was one of his boys.

Rosalind was amazed at the ease and rapidity with which her uncle talked with the cabinet-maker.

"Have you come home to stay this time, Mr. Allan?" Morgan asked.

Allan laughed, and said he did not know about that.

"Two--four--eight years--" the magician told them off on his fingers, shaking his head. "Too long. Take root somewhere, Mr. Allan; too much travel spoils you. Your father loved Friendship."

"Yes," said Allan, gravely.

"You make him join the society," Morgan said, turning to Rosalind.

"He means our secret society," she explained. "He belongs, and he has our motto on the wall," and she drew her uncle to the door of the back room and pointed it out.

"Oh, I remember Morgan's motto, 'Good in everything.' Does one have to subscribe to that in order to join this society?"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "THEY CROSSED OVER TO SPEAK TO HER."]

"That is one thing."

"If there are many such requirements, I fear I shall prove not eligible."