“Morgan really does make me think of a magician,” she said, stroking Crisscross and looking at the cabinet-maker.  “I saw a picture once called ‘The Magician’s Doorway.’  It was all of rich, polished marble, and you could look down a long dim passage where a blue light burned.  Just at the entrance a splendid tiger was chained, and above his head hung a silver horn.”

“Was the horn to call the magician?” asked Maurice.

“Yes, I suppose so; and you couldn’t get it without going very near the tiger.  Cousin Louis promised to write a story about it, but he never had time.”

A flash of lightning, followed immediately by a clap of thunder, startled them.  Maurice went to the door and looked out.  “It is going to be a big storm,” he said.

As he spoke the rain began to fall in torrents, hiding Miss Betty’s house across the street from view.  Suddenly a solitary figure with a dripping umbrella was almost swept into the shop.

“Why, Miss Celia!” cried Maurice.

“I began to think I would be drowned,” she said, laughing breathlessly.

The magician dropped his shears and took her umbrella.

“You are wet; we must have a fire,” he said.

Celia protested.  A summer shower wouldn’t hurt.  It was too warm for a fire.  Rosalind meanwhile sat in the shadow, Crisscross beside her, the thought of the rose and of Aunt Genevieve’s words making her hope Miss Fair would not see her.  Her face was gentle; was it possible she could be unkind and disdainful?

The magician came to the rescue.  He didn’t believe in quarrels anyway, and if he had considered the matter he probably would have argued that Rosalind could have no concern with those she knew nothing about; and observing her in the corner he said, with a wave of the dripping umbrella, “This is Mr. Pat’s little girl, Miss Celia.  You remember Mr. Pat?”

Celia, shaking out her wet skirts, turned in surprise.  As her eyes met Rosalind’s she smiled.  “Yes,” was all she said.

But after a while she came over and patted Crisscross, and said Rosalind must be a witch to have gained his affection so soon, and asked what she and Maurice were doing there, not as if she wanted an answer so much as just to be friendly.

Rosalind felt a great relief, and her eyes were soft as she responded shyly.

CHAPTER FIFTEENTH.

A new member.

“In the circle of this Forest.”

In Friendship the summer was never fairly ushered in until Commencements were over.  When the boys of the Military Institute, a mile beyond the village, had yelled their last yell from the back platform of the train as it swept around the curve, and Mrs. Graham’s boarders had departed, accompanied by their trunks and the enthusiastic farewells of the town pupils, then, and not before, Friendship settled down to the enjoyment of picnics, crabbing parties, and moonlight excursions.