Of course they had to tell him, first thing when he came, that Mary
Alice did not know who he was. He looked a little surprised at first;
then he seemed to relish the joke hugely. When Godmother added certain
explanations, he grew grave again.

"I like that," he said. "I think it's a fine game, and I wish I might
play it. I can't, most of the time. But I can play it with you, if
you'll let me," he went on, turning to Mary Alice. She nodded assent.
"That's splendid!" he cried. "I haven't played a jolly game like this
since I was a boy. Now, you're not to think I'm a king in disguise or
anything like that. There's really nothing about me that's at all
interesting; only, on account of something that has happened to me,
people are talking about me--for nine days or so. I'll be going on, in
a day or two, and every one will forget. Now let's play the game. May
I make toast?"

"You may," she said.

In a little while, some one came to call on Godmother who took the
caller into the library; and the toast-making went on undisturbed.

Whoever he was, he seemed to know something about camp-fires; and
squatting on the rug before the glowing grate, toasting bread, reminded
him of things he had heard strange men tell, as the intimacy of the
night fire in the wilderness brought their stories out. It was
fascinating talk, and Mary Alice listened enthralled.

"I didn't know I had that much talk in me," he laughed, a little
confusedly, as he rose to go. "It must be the surroundings that are