Morgan, however, seemed to understand pretty clearly, to judge from the
way he laughed and asked if Mr. Pat was well.

Rosalind nodded and wrote, "He has gone to Japan."

"So far? Coming home soon?"

With a mournful countenance she shook her head.

Morgan stood looking down on her with a smile that no longer seemed
uncanny. Indeed, there was something almost sweet in the rugged face as he
repeated, "Mr. Pat's little girl, well, well," as if it were quite
incredible.

Rosalind longed to ask at least a dozen questions, but it is dampening to
one's ardor to have to spell every word, and she only nodded and smiled in
her turn as she handed back the tablet.

"I wish father had taught me to talk on my fingers," she thought, feeling
that one branch of her education had been neglected. "Perhaps Uncle Allan
will, when he comes."

She watched the odd figure till it disappeared around a turn in the trim
garden path, then she picked up the big red pillow which had fallen on the
grass, and replacing it in one corner of the bench, curled herself up
against it. The hymn book lay forgotten.

"I believe things are really beginning to happen," she said to herself.
"You need not pretend they are not, for they are," she added, shaking her