The old man looked at the tablet and then at Rosalind, bowing and smiling
as if well pleased. "You'll tell her I'm going to the city to-morrow?" he
asked.

There was something very queer in the way he opened his mouth and used his
tongue, Rosalind thought, as she nodded emphatically, feeling that this
singular individual had her at an unfair advantage. At least she would
find out who he was, and so, as she still held the tablet, she wrote,
"What is your name?"

He laughed as if this were a joke, and searching in his pocket, produced a
card which he presented with a bow. On it was printed "C.J. Morgan,
Cabinet Work."

"What is your name?" he asked.

Rosalind hesitated. She was not sure it at all concerned this stranger to
know her name, but as he stood smiling and waiting, she did not know how
to refuse; so she bent over the tablet, her yellow braid falling over her
shoulder, as she wrote, "Rosalind Patterson Whittredge."

"Mr. Pat's daughter?" There was a twinkle in the old man's eye, and
surprise and delight in his voice.

Rosalind sprang up, her own eyes shining. "How stupid of me!" she cried.
"Why, you must be the magician, and you have a funny old shop, where
father used to play when he was little. Oh, I hope you will let me come to
see you!" Suddenly remembering the tablet, she looked at it despairingly.
She couldn't write half she wished to say.