"An'—an' when the princess lady was little like me, an' lived in the old house, did yer play with her?" asked Maggie.
The Interpreter laughed softly. "Yes, indeed, often. You see I worked in the Mill, too, in those days, Maggie, with her father and Peter Martin and—"
"That was when yer had yer real, sure-nuff legs, wasn't it?" the boy interrupted.
"Yes, Bobby. And every Sunday, almost, I used to be at the old house where the little princess lady lived, or at the Martin home next door, and Helen and John and Charlie and Mary and I would always have such good times together."
Little Maggie's face shone with appreciative interest. "An' did yer tell them fairy stories sometimes?"
"Sometimes."
The little girl sighed and tried to get still closer to the man in the wheel chair. "I like fairies, don't yer?"
"Indeed, I do," he answered heartily.
"Skinny and Chuck, they said yer tol' them stories, too."
The Interpreter laughed quietly. "I expect perhaps I did."