d felt her cheeks growing hot.
How very strange! Here was a puzzle, indeed.

Aunt Genevieve had come for them in the carriage, and as they drove home
Rosalind tried to describe the young lady she had seen, saying nothing
about the rose, however.

"It must have been Celia Fair, mamma, don't you think so?" asked
Genevieve.

"Fair was the name on the stone," said Rosalind, adding, "She was pretty."

Miss Whittredge looked at her mother, then as that lady was silent, she
remarked, in her usual languid tone, "I think you may as well know,
Rosalind, that we have nothing to do with the Fairs."

Why did it make any difference to Rosalind? Why did everything seem wrong?
Why did she feel so unhappy in spite of the blue sky and the sweet summer
air?

When they reached home she sat on the garden bench and looked up at the
griffins, and the fancy floated through her mind that it might be
comfortable to be as unfeeling as they.

"O, dear! I am afraid I am getting out of the Forest. What shall I do?
Perhaps the magician could help me;" she clasped her hands at the
thought. Why not go to see him? She knew the way.

"I will take my book to show him," she said; and running to the house for
it, forgetful of everything but her longing for sympathy, a few minutes
later she flitted down the driveway and out of the gate.

CHAPTER SEVENTH.

THE MAGICIAN MAKES TEA.

"--If that love or gold
Can in this place buy entertainment,
Bring us where we may rest ourselves and feed;
Here's a young maid with travel much oppress'd
And faints for succour."

The magician was at work in his small garden adjusting some wire netting
for the sweet peas, while Curly Q. looked on with interest, and Crisscross
finished his saucer of milk.

Rosalind came through the shop so softly that only the cat was aware of
it. He gazed at her in evident doubt whether to continue work on the rim
of his saucer or take refuge on the fence.

"I should like to have a little house, and a dog and cat to live with me,"
she thought, sitting down on the step to wait till she should be
observed. Yes, this was more like the Forest of Arden than any place she
knew; her unhappiness seemed melting away in the peaceful atmosphere.

Crisscross decided she was not dangerous, and keeping an eye on her by way
of precaution went on with his supper. It was not long, however, before
Curly Q. discovered her presence and came bounding to her si