"Everybody in Friendship knows Morgan. He is a good fellow, too. Why do
you call him the magician?"
"Because that is what father called him when he was a little boy. Once
when Morgan had made an old desk look like new, grandfather said he was a
magician, and father, who heard him, thought he meant it really. Father
and Uncle Allan used to play in his shop and talk on their fingers to him.
Can you do that?"
"Why, yes; I'll teach you if you like."
"I should like it very much. It is so tiresome to write things."
"Morgan is very clever, too, about understanding. You only begin to spell
a word when he guesses what you want to say," Maurice added.
"I went to his shop the other day with Miss Herbert, but she wouldn't let
me stay long. I made friends with his funny dog."
"Do you know what we call him? Curly Q. And the cat--did you see him? He
is Crisscross."
"How funny," said Rosalind. "I think they are very good names. Crisscross
wouldn't have anything to do with me."
"Are you going to live here?" Maurice asked.
"No; but I shall be here a long time. I think Friendship is a nice place,
and funny too, because it has a bank with a garden around it. At home our
banks are all on the street and have offices over them."
"Yes; Friendship isn't a city," Maurice acknowledged apologetically. "I
should like to live in a big city."
"I like Friendship. It only seems a little odd, you know," Rosalind
hastened to add. "Do they ever let you go into the bank part of your
house?"
"Why, of course, I can go in whenever I choose. My father is the cashier,
and it is to take care of the bank that we live here."
The conversation was brought to an end by a maid sent to find Rosalind.
After she had gone Maurice saw a book on the grass where she had been
lying, and reaching through the hedge with his crutch, he drew it toward
him. When he removed the outside cover, even his uncritical eye saw it was
a handsome hook. "Shakespeare's 'As You Like It.' Edited by Louis A.
Sargent," he read. "Why, it is one of Shakespeare's plays," he said, in
surprise. So this was the story Rosalind was talking about.
On the fly-leaf was some writing in small clear letters. "For Rosalind,
with the wish that she may meet the hard things of life as bravely, and
find as much happiness by the way, as did her namesake in the Forest of
Arden. From her friend, Louis A. Sargent."
"Meet the hard things of life as bravely--" Maurice's face grew hot. "You
wouldn't have thought there was any good in that." The touch of scorn in
Rosalind's tone stung as he recalled it. He turned the leaves and began to
read.
It was a pleasure to look at the large clear type; he soon became
interested.
Half an hour later Katherine's voice broke in upon the Forest of Arden.
"Maurice, Maurice, what are you doing? Mother sent me to find you."
"I am reading. Don't bother, please," was the reply, in a tone so far
removed from melancholy that Katherine, reassured, obediently retired.