rub, and when the
last stamp and pat were given performed a little dance of triumph about
it, at the close of which he pulled off his hat and began to fan his
heated face. The action caused the observer to start and look again,
thinking, as he recognized the energetic worker with a smile, "What a
changeful thing it is! haunting one's premises unseen, and stealing
one's books unsuspected; dreaming one half the day and masquerading the
other half. What will happen next? Let us see but not be seen, lest the
boy turn shy and run away before the pretty play is done!"

Holding the curtain between the window and himself, Moor peeped through
the semi-transparent screen, enjoying the little episode immensely.
Sylvia fanned and rested a few minutes, then went up and down among the
flowers, often pausing to break a dead leaf, to brush away some harmful
insect, or lift some struggling plant into the light; moving among them
as if akin to them, and cognizant of their sweet wants. If she had
seemed strong-armed and sturdy as a boy before, now she was tender
fingered as a woman, and went humming here and there like any
happy-hearted bee.

"Curious child!" thought Moor, watching the sunshine glitter on her
uncovered head, and listening to the air she left half sung. "I've a
great desire to step out and see how she will receive me. Not like any
other girl, I fancy."

But, before he could execute his design, the roll of a carriage was
heard in the avenue, and pausing an instant, with head erect like a
startled doe, Sylvia turned and vanished, dropping flowers as she ran.
Mr. Yule, accompanied by his son and daughter, came hurrying in with
greetings, explanations, and apologies, and in a moment the house was
full of a pleasant stir. Steps went up and down, voices echoed through
the rooms, savory odors burst forth from below, and doors swung in the
wind, as if the spell was broken and the sleeping palace had wakened
with a word.

Prue made a hasty toilet and harassed the cook to the verge of
spontaneous combustion, while Mark and his father devoted themselves to
their guest. Just as dinner was announced Sylvia came in, as calm and
cool as if wheelbarrows were myths and linen suits unknown. Moor was
welcomed with a quiet hand-shake, a grave salutation, and a look that
seemed to say, "Wait a little, I take no friends on trust."

All through dinner, though she sat as silent as a well-bred child, she
looked and listened with an expressio