his victorious charge; and the relief expedition that found the
castaway on his desert island. Sometimes she was even a cannibal
chief, or a monster dragon, or a cruel wild beast. And always--though
the boy did not know--she was a good fairy weaving many spells for his
happiness.

The man remembered well enough the first time that he met her. A new
family was moving into the house that stood just below the garden and,
from his seat on the gate post, the boy was watching the big wagons,
loaded with household goods, as they turned into the neighboring yard.
On the high seat of one of the wagons was the little girl. A big man
lifted her down and the boy, watching, saw her run gaily into the
house. For some time he held his place, swinging his bare legs
impatiently, but he did not see the little girl come out into the yard
again. Then, dropping to the ground, the boy slipped along the garden
fence under the currant bushes to a small opening in the hedge that
separated the two places. Very cautiously, at first, he peered through
the branches. Then, upon finding all quiet, he grew bolder, and on
hands and knees crept part way through the little green tunnel to find
himself, all suddenly, face to face with her.

That was the beginning. The end had come several years later when the
family had moved again.

The parting, too, he remembered well enough. A boy and girl parting it
was. And the promises--boy and girl promises they were. At first many
poorly written, awkwardly expressed, laboriously compiled, but warmly
interesting letters were exchanged. Then the letters became shorter
and shorter; the intervals between grew longer and longer; until, even
as childhood itself goes, she had slipped out of his life. Even as the