yet, would you believe it,
they actually expected a lion, and asked me if I had brought one with
me."

"Yes," agreed Father, "it's very wonderful; they were trying to
describe a lion before you came in. I think at times children must
have second sight, and that is why I am afraid we sometimes do not
understand them. Good-night, Jollyface; come and see us again soon."

BOOK II

WHAT THE WRITER AND THE LORD MAYOR DECLARED

CHAPTER V

THE WRITER APPEARS UPON THE SCENE

There had been a certain amount of excitement when Father and Mother
had started for their holidays abroad, but nothing in any way to be
compared to the excitement of the day when the Writer made his first
appearance.

Ridgwell and Christine distinctly heard themselves being asked for by a
visitor, one day when the sitting-room door was open, and to be
inquired for personally was at least something of an event. "I want to
see the children," a voice had said, and there was no mistaking the
significance of the words. Without any undue delay, Ridgwell and
Christine immediately presented themselves.

The stranger was led in captive, one upon either side of him, and being
placed upon the sofa was regarded steadfastly for some little while.
During a very thorough scrutiny the prisoner smiled affably, produced a
pipe which he lighted carefully and puffed at steadily, and then
inquired casually if they both thought he would do.

"You look jolly," announced Ridgwell, "only I can't make out who you
are; but you know Father and Mother very well, don't you?"

"Rather," said the stranger, "great friends of mine."

"But we've never seen you, have we?" added Christine.

"No," replied the stranger, "but I thought it was quite time I made
your acquaintance, so I thought I would call upon you. Sorry I haven't
got a card, but you can supply something in its place which will be
quite as good. Where does Father keep his books?" was the sudden and
somewhat unexpected question.

"It just depends," debated Ridgwell, "what particular lot you want.
Biography, Philosophy, Romance or Poetry."

"I think the Romance and Poetry department," suggested the stranger.

"This way," said Ridgwell; "I will show you."

The stranger ran his finger over the well-stocked orderly shelves, then
he paused at four volumes side by side about the middle of the second
shelf.

"Of course you both read?" inquired the stranger.

"Not those sort of books," explained Rid