"Do you? Why?"
"Because he is one. Didn't you know it?" Rosalind danced up the slope, with Curly Q. after her.
"Rosalind says you are a magician. Are you?" Belle spelled rapidly when they had joined Morgan on the bridge.
The old man's eyes twinkled as he replied, "That's a secret; you mustn't tell anybody."
"Ask him if he knows about the Forest," said Rosalind.
Belle asked the question.
Morgan laughed. "'Where the birds sing—'" he quoted.
"Tell me about it, please," begged Belle. "Does Katherine know?"
Rosalind promised she would sometime; and as Katherine did not know either, and as it was growing late, Belle agreed to wait.
It was rather an odd and pleasant sight, if any one had stopped to think of it—the old man with his bright, wistful eyes, his tool box on his shoulder, and his three companions, walking home together. Demure Katherine, dainty Rosalind, saucy Belle,—all as merry as merry could be,—and Curly Q. running in and out among them in an ecstasy of delight, and at imminent danger of upsetting somebody.