"Her name belongs to the Forest," thought Rosalind, looking at the ripples, Belle had thrown herself back and was gazing at the sky from under her hat brim; Katherine was busy with a collection of pebbles; the stillness was broken only by the hum of insects and the murmur of Friendly Creek. Suddenly Rosalind seemed to hear with perfect distinctness what it said,
"Be fr-ie-nds, be fr-ie-nds," with a little trill on the words.
From experience she knew very little of unfriendliness. All this about quarrels and having nothing to do with people was new to her. As she considered it she remembered that Oliver hated Orlando, and Rosalind's uncle had treated her and her father unkindly, in the story. "But it all came right in the end," she told herself, "when they met in the Forest." It was a cheering thought, and she smiled over it.
"What are you smiling at?" Belle asked, sitting up.
Rosalind's eyes had a far-away look as she replied, "I was thinking about the Forest."
"What forest?" Belle began to ask, when a curly dog rushed down upon them, and on the bridge above their heads they saw the magician waving his hand.
"Well, Curly Q. How are you?" cried Rosalind.
"There's Morgan," said Belle; "you know him, don't you?"
"Of course I do. I took tea with him last week," Rosalind answered, laughing.
"And, Belle, she calls him the 'magician,'" Katherine said.