lived in many a land. The first time I read a book
he had written I caught my breath with joy, again and again. I knew I
had found a friend, even though there was no likelihood that I should
ever see his face. He was a great and famous writer, and all the world
honored him; while I, hidden away in my castle on a rock on the edge of
Muircarrie, was so far from being interesting or clever that even in my
grandest evening dress and tiara of jewels I was as insignificant as a
mouse. In fact, I always felt rather silly when I was obliged to wear my
diamonds on state occasions as custom sometimes demanded.

Mr. MacNairn wrote essays and poems, and marvelous stories which were
always real though they were called fiction. Wheresoever his story was
placed--howsoever remote and unknown the scene--it was a real place, and
the people who lived in it were real, as if he had some magic power to
call up human things to breathe and live and set one's heart beating.
I read everything he wrote. I read every word of his again and again. I
always kept some book of his near enough to be able to touch it with my
hand; and often I sat by the fire in the library holding one open on
my lap for an hour or more, only because it meant a warm, close
companionship. It seemed at those times as if he sat near me in the dim
glow and we understood each other's thoughts without using words, as Wee
Brown Elspeth and I had understood--only this was a deeper thing.

I had felt near him in this way for several years, and every year he had
grown more famous, when it happened that one June my guardian, Sir Ian,
required me to go to London to see my lawyers and sign some important
documents connected with the management of the estate. I was to go
to his house to spend a week or more, attend a Drawing-Room, and show
myself at a few great parties in a proper manner, this being considered
my duty toward my relatives. These, I believe, were secretly afraid that
if I were never seen their world would condemn my guardian for
neglect of his charge, or would decide that I was of unsound mind and
intentionally kept hidden away at Muircarrie. He was an honorable man,
and his wife was a well-meaning woman. I did not wish to do them an
injustice, so I paid them yearly visits and tried to behave as they
wished, much as I disliked to be dressed in fine frocks and to wear
diamonds on my little head and round my thin neck.

It was an odd thing that this time I found I did not