"Maurice Roberts."
Rosalind tossed back her hair and began to twist it into a shining rope. "I am Rosalind Whittredge," she said. "I should not think you would ever be unhappy," she added.
"Do you know, I saw you last Sunday when you were studying something. Kit and I peeped at you through the hedge."
"I was learning a hymn for grandmamma. Why didn't you speak to me?"
"I didn't know whether you'd like it."
"Why, of course I should have liked it. I was beginning to think that day I should never get acquainted with any one, and I was feeling dreadfully lonesome when the magician came in."
"The magician?" Maurice exclaimed. Certainly this was a singular girl who talked about magicians in an everyday tone.
Rosalind laughed. "I mean Morgan, who does cabinet work. Do you know him?"
"Everybody in Friendship knows Morgan. He is a good fellow, too. Why do you call him the magician?"
"Because that is what father called him when he was a little boy. Once when Morgan had made an old desk look like new, grandfather said he was a magician, and father, who heard him, thought he meant it really. Father and Uncle Allan used to play in his shop and talk on their fingers to him. Can you do that?"