He looked at her inquiringly. "Real friends?"
"Surface friends. He is coming again to tell me his troubles and get my sympathy. Uncle Rod, what makes me so clear-eyed all of a sudden?"
He smoothed his beard. "My dear, 'the eyes of the hare are one thing, the eyes of the owl another.' You are looking at life from a different point of view. I knew that if you ever met a real man you'd know the difference between him and Jimmie Ford."
She came over, and standing behind him, put her hands on his shoulders. "I've found him, Uncle Rod."
"St. Michael?"
"Yes."
"I am not poor, Uncle Rod. I am rich. It is enough to have known him."
The sunset was showing above the wooden gate. The cows had gone home. The old fish swam lazily in the shadowed water.
Anne drew her low chair to the old man's side. "Uncle Rod, isn't it queer, the difference between the things we ask for and the things we get? To have a dream come true doesn't mean always that you must get what you want, does it? For sometimes you get something that is more wonderful than any dream. And now if you'll listen, and not look at me, I'll tell you all about it, you darling dear."