Miss Greene hurriedly withdrew, lifting to the ceiling eyes of awed
surprise. For some reason which she was subsequently unable to
explain, she asked the boy no questions; but she watched him more
closely after this, and discovered that, however remote the date of
Miss Bell's first appearance, she was now firmly established as a
daily guest--an honored one whose influence, though mild, was almost
boundless, and whose gentle behests were usually unhesitatingly
obeyed. Occasionally, as in the instance of the blocks, Raymond
Mortimer combated them; once or twice he disobeyed them. But on the
second of these occasions he drooped mournfully through the day,
bearing the look of one adrift in the universe; and the observant Miss
Greene noted that the following day was a strenuous one, occupied with
eager fulfilment of the unexpressed wishes of Lily Bell, who had
evidently returned to his side. Again and again the child did things
he most obviously would have preferred not to do. The housekeeper
looked on with deep but silent interest until she heard him say, for
perhaps the tenth time, "Well, I don't like it, but I will if you
really want me to." Then she spoke, but so casually that the boy,
absorbed in his play, felt nothing unusual in the question.

"Whom are you talking to, Raymond?" she asked, as she rounded the heel
of the stocking she was knitting. He replied abstractedly, without
raising his eyes from the work he was doing.

"To Lily Bell," he said.

Miss Greene knitted in silence for a moment. Then, "Where is she?" she
asked.

"Why, she's here!" said the child. "Right beside me!"