to have. And he was—and is still, I suppose—just a perfect understander. That is his quality. And it is startling to me, all you have said, for he has been a sort of a talisman to me, too, all these years. I’ve looked at him, at the picture, when I needed understanding. And that is surprising in itself, for once, when he was just the age he is in that picture, the very week the picture was taken, I did him a wrong, a great wrong. We quarrelled. Since then I have never seen or heard from him.”

Kate turned upon her mother with real exasperation at this disclosure. “Oh, Mother! How could you! Another quarrel!”

Katherine said nothing, and Kate instantly softened. She felt that she had wounded her mother; and that was a dreadful thing to have happened on this their last night! It was in an apologizing tone and humbly that she asked then, “And may I take him with me to-morrow?”

“No, I think you’d better not. Let him stay just where he is, in the secret drawer. I may need his magic more than you while you are away.”

So her mother wasn’t really hurt at all, or cross. She had spoken lightly, even airily. Kate sighed her relief. “I’m not asking you who the boy is, notice?” she spoke as lightly as her mother. “It might spoil the magic if I knew a human name for him. And I don’t believe you ever did him a wrong, either. For one thing, I don’t believe any one could do him a wrong. And you never did any one a wrong, anyway. I know it. You’re too dear and kind.— Look at those fireflies out there. Watch me catch one!”

Kate suddenly jumped up and ran away into the summer evening. Katherine stayed still on the bench, watching her quick motions, her leaps and runs and turns. “It’s very like a dance,” she thought. “Only there should be music.” And she began humming softly.

* * * * * * * *

* * * * * * * *

Kate slept that night with the twinges of premature homesickness dulled by fatigue. And when morning came with the last bustle and scurry, any doubts that still lingered back in her mind were lost in the glamour of the adventure whose day had at last arrived.

“I’m going to take ‘The King of the Fairies’ with me to read on the train, Mother,” she called from her bedroom where she was putting the very last things into her bag.

Katherine came to stand in the doorway, a partly spread piece of bread for a sandwich for Kate’s luncheon in 

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