"Where?" demanded her father.
"When I was to Camelot," she repeated, cuddling close to him as if to show that there were dearer places than that gorgeous city, "I saw a knight and a lady getting married. And lots of other knights were there—they didn't wear their fighting clothes—and lots of other ladies, pink ones. An' Arthur wore a stovepipe hat an' Guinevere wore a white dress, an' she had white feathers in her crown. An' Lancelot, he was there, all getting married. Daddy, dear," she broke off to question, "were you ever to Camelot?"
"Oh, yes, I was there," he answered, "but it was a great many years ago."
"Did you find roses?" she asked, exhibiting her wilted treasures.
"I found your mother there, my dear."
"And then, what did you do then?"
"Well, then we were married and lived happily ever after."
"And then—?"
"There was you, and we lived happier ever after."
And Mary fell on sleep again in the shelter of her father's arm while the stars came out and the glow of joyant Camelot lit all the southern sky.