A CALL AND AN INVITATION


The weeks that followed were happy ones in "The House of the Misty
Star." Page Hanaford dropped in frequently after supper, and my liking
for the boy grew stronger with each visit. His good breeding and gentle
rearing were as innate as the brightness of his eyes; and no less
evident was his sore need of companionship, though when he talked it was
on diversified subjects, never personal ones. If the time between visits
were longer than I thought it should be, I invented excuses and sent for
him. I asked little favors of him which necessitated his coming to my
house; then I asked more, which kept him.

Thus it was that many delightful hours were spent in the cozy, cheerful
living-room of the little house perched high upon the hill. In one
shadowy corner Jane Gray usually sat, busy with her endless knitting of
bibs for babies. Close beside her the maids, Pine Tree and Maple Leaf,
looked up from their seats upon the floor, intent on every movement of
her flying fingers that they too might quickly learn and help to "bib"
the small citizens of their country.

From my place on one side of the reading lamp I could look, unobserved,
at Page Hanaford on the other side, as he sat in the deep chair and
stretched his long limbs toward the glowing grate stove, while he read
to us tales of travel and fiction. Jane said they were as delightful as
his voice. I was often too busy studying the boy to give much heed to
his reading, but when he spoke it was a different matter.

His familiarity with the remote places of the world, centers of