"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 passed. 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
amusement.
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?"
[Illustration: "THEY CROSSED OVER TO SPEAK TO HER."]
"That is one thing."
"If there are many such requirements, I fear I shall prove not eligible."
"Does that mean you can't join?" Rosalind asked, looking disappointed.
"Well, I'll consider it. I'll try to be broad-minded and practise
believing impossible things, like Alice."
"'Six impossible things before breakfast,'" quoted Rosalind. "I am so glad
you know Alice; but it was the White Queen, wasn't it?"
"I shouldn't wonder if it was," Allan answered, laughing.
They went out to the little garden to see the sweet peas and nasturtiums,
and the magician insisted upon gathering some. While they waited Rosalind
told her uncle about the time she took tea with him.
When at last they left the shop, Miss Betty was standing in her door, and
they crossed over to speak to her.
"Well, Allan, I am glad to see you at last," she said, coming down the
walk to meet them.
"You do not appear to have pined away in my absence," he replied, shaking
hands.
Miss Betty shrugged her shoulders. "I was never much on pining, but my
curiosity has been sadly strained."
"What about?"
"You know very well. That ring."
"Now, if that isn't like Friendship," said Allan, laughing, as he followed
her to the porch and made himself comfortable in one of the big rocking
chairs. Rosalind sat on the step arranging her flowers and listening.
"I would have you know I have something else to think about besides
foolish and unreasonable wills and lost jewels," Allan continued. "I
regret I cannot relieve the strain, but so far as I know, the ring has not
been heard of and is not likely to be."
"But if it should be found?" said Miss Betty. "Stranger things have
happened."
"Yes," said Allan.
"Then the question is, do you know what you are going to do with it?"
"That is a question with which I shall not trouble myself until it is
found. I am a lazy person, as you know, Cousin Betty."
"I know nothing of the sort, Allan. Now, there is one thing you might
tell me. Do you know what Cousin Thomas meant, or was it one of his jokes?
Yes or no."
"No," answered Allan, promptly.
Miss Betty looked puzzled; then she laughed. "It is like playing tit, tat,
toe, to talk to you," she exclaimed. "I might have known you'd get ahead
of me."
"I have answered your question as you desired; now let's change the
subject," he suggested gravely.
Rosalind gave a gentle little chuckle. Miss Betty looked at her. "What do
you think of your uncle, Rosalind?" she asked.
"You certainly have the gift for asking pointed questions," Allan
remarked, before Rosalind could speak. "I can tell you what she expected.
She had an idea that I resembled Uncle Allan Barnwell."
"Gracious! You must be relieved. I could have told you better than that."
"I didn't really think it; I only wondered," said Rosalind.
Miss Betty laughed in a reminiscent sort of way. "Do you remember him,
Allan? But no, I fancy you were too little. He used to visit at our house
when I was a child, and I was never so afraid of any one. I suppose you
have heard the story of his wedding?"
"I have a dim recollection of the story. Tell it to Rosalind."
"Well," she began, "Uncle Allan was a minister, you know. A Presbyterian
of the sternest stuff, rich in eloquence and power of argument, but poor
in this world's goods. However, he judiciously fell in love with Matilda
Greene, the only daughter of a wealthy Baltimore merchant. As was natural,
Matilda chose for her wedding-gown a gorgeous robe of white satin, and all
the preparations for the event were on a lavish scale. When the day came
and the guests had assembled, and the bride in her beautiful gown and lace
veil appeared before the eyes of the bridegroom, Uncle Allan created a
sensation by sternly declaring that such a dress was inappropriate for the
bride of a humble minister of the Gospel.
"And the meek Matilda, instead of telling him he could marry her as she
was or not at all, took off her satin, put on a simple muslin, and the
ceremony was performed. Uncle Allan always referred to his wife as 'My
Matilda'; and if the truth were known, I fancy she couldn't call her soul
her own."
"I remember the story," said Allan, laughing. "We come of a stubborn
family. What would have happened if Matilda had asserted herself?"
"He had her at a disadvantage,--the guests waiting,--but she missed the
chance of a lifetime," said Miss Betty.
"Was Matilda fond of him?" asked Rosalind.
"Let us hope so; at any rate she always spoke of him as 'My Allan.'"