and
tried to cheer me up. Oh, yes, Miss Celia is kind."

"But do you think she would be kind to some one she didn't know?" Rosalind
persisted.

Maurice looked at her in surprise, she seemed so much in earnest in these
inquiries. "How can you be kind to people you don't know?" he asked.

"I'll tell you about it if you won't tell. You see I am not quite sure."
Then Rosalind told the incident of her meeting with Miss Fair in the
cemetery. "She looked pleasant and as if she wanted to be friends at
first, but she didn't say anything after I told her my name, and when I
looked back, I am sure--almost sure--saw her throw the rose away."

"Miss Celia wouldn't do a thing like that," Maurice asserted stoutly. "She
couldn't have any reason for it; she doesn't know you."

"Do you really think she wouldn't?" Rosalind asked, in a tone of relief.
"You know there is a kind of a quarrel between her family and ours,--Belle
said so,--and I thought perhaps that had something to do with it; but I am
going to try to think I was mistaken about the rose."

[Illustration: "LOOKING UP HE DISCOVERED HIS VISITORS."]

While they talked the rain had ceased, and some rays of watery sunshine
found their way in at the window.

"Let's go to the magician's and show him the constitution and ask him to
join," Rosalind proposed.

Maurice was willing, and without a thought of the clouds they started
gayly up the street. They were almost there when Rosalind said, "I believe
it is going to rain, and we haven't an umbrella."

"Perhaps we shall have to stay to supper with Morgan," Maurice suggested,
laughing.

"I had a very good supper there," said Rosalind. "I don't see why
everybody should think it was so very funny in me to go."

"No one else would have done it, that's all."

When they looked in at the door of the magician's shop, he was busy with
some scraps of leather. Around him were bottomless chairs, topless tables,
and melancholy sofas with sagging springs exposed to view, and in one
corner a tall, empty clock-case. With his spectacles on the tip of his
nose and a pair of large shears in his hand, Morgan might have sat for the
picture of some wonder-working genius. Looking up, he discovered his
visitors, and a smile illumined his rugged face, as he waved them a
welcome with the big shears. He was never too busy for company.

"Come in, come in," he said; and jumping up he got out a feather duster
and whisked off a chair for Rosalind, rema