"I shouldn't like to be carried off by a big fish as they were, but I do think some sort of an adventure would be interesting. Don't you?" asked Rosalind.
"We'll have to do something," Maurice agreed, "Don't you wish we could get inside the Gilpin house? Mr. Wells, the teller in our bank, sleeps there. I wish he would drop the key."
"Grandmamma says it will be open for people to go through before the sale, but then it will be too late to look for the ring. Belle is so good at thinking of things, I wish she would find a way for us to get in," Rosalind added.
A bell was heard ringing on the other side of the hedge, and Maurice rose. "Dinner is ready," he said.
Rosalind walked to the gate with him. "Uncle Allan is coming to-morrow," she remarked, "and I just wonder what he is like."
Turning toward the house again, she became aware of a stranger standing beside the griffins. He was not waiting to get in, for the door was open behind him, and furthermore he had the air of being at home. Something in his height and the breadth of his shoulders suggested her father, and as she drew nearer a certain resemblance to Aunt Genevieve developed.
He watched her approach with a look of puzzled interest. "Surely, this isn't Rosalind," he said.
Rosalind paused on the bottom step. "Why, yes, it is. Are you Uncle Allan?"
"A great tall girl like you my niece? Pat's daughter? Impossible!" There was a twinkle in his eye. Clearly, Uncle Allan was a tease.
"I suppose I shall have to be identified," said Rosalind, merrily.