ket. And the toys had been left
in the old bookcase, so that, Mrs. Westley had decided, the room would
look as if a little girl could really live in it! Little wonder that
Jerry thought it all "wonderful."

When Gyp heard the rattle of tea-cups below, they all tore downstairs
again, Pepper at their heels. They gathered around Uncle Johnny and
drank iced tea and ate little frosted cakes and demanded to be told how
he had felt when he knew he was lost on that "big mountain." They were
all so nice and jolly, Jerry thought, and, though Isobel ignored her,
she must be as nice as the others, because Uncle Johnny kept her next to
him and held her hand. The late afternoon sun slanted through the long
windows with a pleasant glow; the rows and rows of books on the open
shelves made Jerry feel at home; the great, deep-seated chairs gave her
a delicious sense of refuge.

It was Uncle Johnny who, after dinner, sent Jerry off to bed early;
though she declared she was not one little bit tired, he had noticed
that the brightness had gone from her face. Gyp and Tibby went upstairs
with her; Graham disappeared with Pepperpot.

"What do you think of my girl?" John Westley asked his sister-in-law.
They had gone back to the library. Isobel sat on a stool close to Uncle
Johnny's chair.

"She seems like an unusually nice, jolly child. But----" Mrs. Westley
looked a little distressed. "May she not be homesick here, John--so far
from her folks?" She hated to think of such a possibility.

"I thought of that," John Westley chuckled. "I said something about it
to her. What do you think she said? She waited a moment before she
answered me--as though she was carefully considering it. 'Well,' she
said, 'anyway, one wouldn't be homesick for very long, would one?' As
though it'd be like measles--or mumps. This is an Adventure to her;
she's been dreaming about it all her life!" He told, then, about the
Wishing-rock.

"I tell you, Mary, there's some sort of spirit about the girl that's
unusual! It must come from some fire of genius further back than her
hermit-parents. I'm as certain as anything that there's a mystery about
the child. I've knocked about among all sorts of people, but I never
found such a curious family before--in such a place. Dr. Travis is one
of those mortals whose feet touch the earth and whose head is in the
clouds; Mrs. Travis is a cultured, beautiful woman with a look in her
eyes as though she was always afraid of something