emotion that surged into her eyes in the more obvious but less
significant form of tears. "Glad to see you, Delia," was all he said.

She put her slim white forefinger on his lips.

He smiled. "Oh! I forgot. You're Adelaide, of course, since you've
grown up."

"Why call me out of my name?" she demanded, gayly. "You should have
christened me Delia if you had wanted me named that."

"I'll try to remember, next time," he said, meekly. His gray eyes were
dancing and twinkling like sunbeams pouring from breaches in a spent
storm-cloud; there was an eloquence of pleasure far beyond laughter's in
the rare, infrequent eye smiles from his sober, strong face.

Now there was a squeaking and chattering behind them. Adelaide whirled
free of her father's arms and caught up the monkey. "Put out your hand,
sir," said she, and she kissed him. Her father shuddered, so awful was
the contrast between the wizened, dirty-brown face and her roselike
skin and fresh fairness. "Put out your hand and bow, sir," she went on.
"This is Mr. Hiram Ranger, Mr. Simeon. Mr. Simeon, Mr. Ranger; Mr.
Ranger, Mr. Simeon."

Hiram, wondering at his own weakness, awkwardly took the paw so uncannily
like a mummied hand. "What did you do this for, Adelaide?" said he, in a
tone of mild remonstrance where he had intended to be firm.

"He's so fascinating, I couldn't resist. He's so wonderfully human--"