Next morning he was up so early that the farmhouse was still asleep when he tiptoed down the creaking stairs. As he opened the door into the orchard, a puppy squirmed from under the currant bushes and approached him with timid tail-waggings. He had the easily damped enthusiasm of most puppies; he was by no means certain that he might not be in disgrace for something. Nature had originally intended him for a bull-terrier; before finishing her work, she had changed her mind and decided that he should be a greyhound. The result was an ungainly object, white in color, too high on the legs, with red-rimmed eyes which blinked continually. Teddy knelt down and cuddled him, after which they were friends.

How still the world was! Now that no one was about, the garden seemed no longer a dumb thing, but a moving fluttering personality. Dew sparkled on the red-tiled paths. It glistened in spider-webs. It put tears into the eyes of flowers. A slow wind, cool with the memory of night, rustled the tree-tops; it sounded like an unseen woman turning languidly in bed. Through leaves the sunlight filtered and fell in patches. A sense of possession came upon the boy—it was all his, this early morning world.

The puppy kept lagging behind, collapsing on his awkward haunches, and turning his head to gaze back at the house. Teddy became curious to see what he wanted and let him choose the direction. Under a window in the thatch to which the roses climbed, he laid himself down.

“So you’re thinking of her, too?” he whispered.

They watched together. The sun climbed higher. Inside the farmhouse sounds began to stir.

When she appeared at breakfast, she chose to be haughty. After she had stalked away with Fanner Joseph, Mrs. Sarie explained to Teddy his breach of etiquette: he had failed to address her as “Princess.”

“She’s full o’ fancies,” said Mrs. Sarie, clearing away the dishes; “full o’ fancies. I’ve ’ad ten children in my time, but not one of ’em like ’er. She won’t let none of us be what we are; she makes us play every day that we’re something different. She’s a captive Princess to-day, and Joseph’s a giant and I’m a giantess.”

Peering through the curtain which hung before the window, he saw Desire, seated astride an ancient horse, which plodded round and round in the farmyard drawing water from a well.

He smiled. He knew little about feminine perversity. Picking up a book, he went into the orchard and threw himself down where the brook ran singing to itself.

Footsteps! She came walking sedately, pretending that she did not know that he was there. He buried his nose in his book. She went by, waited, came back. He heard a swishing sound behind him and glanced across his shoulder. She was standing with a twig in her hand, her face flushed with anger, striking at some scarlet poppies. “Hulloa! What are you doing?”

“They’re people who don’t love me. They’re beasts, and I’m cutting off their heads.”

“I wouldn’t do that. They’re so pretty, and they don’t have long to live, anyhow. Besides, you’re making the puppy frightened.”

The puppy was escaping, his tail quivering like an eel between his legs. Directly her attention was called to his terror, she threw the stick aside.

“Poor old Bones, she didn’t mean to frighten him. She wouldn’t do anything to hurt him for the world.”

She gathered him into her arms, and sat herself down beside the brook about a yard away from Teddy.

“Bones does love me; but some people don’t. We call him Bones ’cause he’s got hardly any flesh.”

She glanced shyly at Teddy to see whether he was taking her remarks impersonally or as addressed to himself.

He was smiling, so she edged a little nearer and smiled back.

“People aren’t kind to Bones,” she said; “they throw things at him. He’s such a coward; people only respect dogs when they bite. You shouldn’t be so nice; you really shouldn’t, Bones.” And then, significantly: “If you’re too nice to strangers at first, you aren’t valued.”

Teddy laughed softly. “So that was why you bit me this morning, Princess, after I’d got up so early and waited for you?”

She tossed her curls and lowered her eyes. “Did I bite? For the fun of it, I’m always being cross like that. I’m even cross to my mother—my beautiful mother. She’s the darlingest mother in the world.”

Teddy closed his book and leant out, bridging the distance. “Is she? Where is she now?”

“I don’t know, only—only I know I want her. Don’t get afraid; I never cry. P’raps she’s in America. He says that she’ll come to me here, but I don’t believe him.” Suddenly with a gesture that was all tenderness, she slipped out her hand. “I was so lonely till you came. Together we may find her. I’m going to have a little girl myself one day, and I know I should cry and cry if I lost her.”

“You’d have to get married first. When I was very little, I once——”

She interrupted. “Oh, no! Ladies don’t have to. When they want babies, they speak to God about it. I know because—— Is your mother married?”

“Yes, my mother’s married. My father paints pictures.”

“Is it nice to have a father?”

“Very nice. Just as nice as to have a mother, only in another way.”

“Do—do all boys have fathers?”

“Why, yes. And all girls.”

“They don’t. I’ve asked my beautiful mother about it so often, because I——”

She fell silent, gazing straight before her with the cloud of thought in her eyes. Bones, sprawling across her lap, licked her hand to attract her attention; she drew her hand away, but took no other notice. The brook bubbled past her feet; its murmurous monologue emphasized her silence. Through lichened trees the farmhouse glowed red. In and out the shadows the sunshine danced like a gold-haired child.

“If fathers are really nice,” she sighed wistfully, “p’raps I ought to have a father for my little girl. When we’re both growed up, I might ask you. Would you be her father, per—perhaps?”

Stretched at her side, he glanced up to see the mischief creep about the edges of her mouth. But her face was no longer elfin; it was earnest and troubled with things beyond her knowledge. When she looked like that she seemed older than twelve—almost the same age as himself; there were so many things that he, too, could not understand. He reflected that they both were very like Bones with their easily damped enthusiasm. A wave of pity swept through him; she was so slight, so dainty, so unprotected. He forgot his pigeons; he forgot everything that had happened before meeting her. He felt that of all things in the world, were he given the choice, he would ask that she might be his sister. Stooping his head, he kissed the white petal of a hand where it lay unfolded in the grass.

She looked down at him quietly. “My darling mother would say, ’You mustn’t let boys do that.’ But I expect she would let you do it. Do you—do you think I’m an odd child? Every one says I am.”

He laughed with a thrill of excitement; she made him feel so much younger than his yesterday self. “I couldn’t tell you, Princess. I’ve never known any girls. But you’re beautiful, and you’re dear, and you’re——”

“Let’s be tremenjous friends,” she whispered.

Through the long summer days that followed they lived in a world of self-created magic—a world which, because they had made it, belonged wholly to themselves. Its chief delight was that they alone could see it. No one else knew that the broo............