“This,” said he, “is my very own tree, because he’s so very big, an’ so very, very old,—­Adam says he’s the oldest tree in the orchard.  I call him ‘King Arthur’ ‘cause he is so big, an’ strong,—­just like a king should be, you know,—­an’ all the other trees are his Knights of the Round Table.”

But Bellew was not looking at “King Arthur” just then; his eyes were turned to where one came towards them through the green,—­one surely as tall, and gracious, as proud and beautiful, as Enid, or Guinevere, or any of those lovely ladies, for all her simple gown of blue, and the sunbonnet that shaded the beauty of her face.  Yes, as he gazed, Bellew was sure and certain that she who, all unconscious of their presence, came slowly towards them with the red glow of the sunset about her, was handsomer, lovelier, statelier, and altogether more desirable than all the beautiful ladies of King Arthur’s court,—­or any other court so-ever.

But now Small Porges finding him so silent, and seeing where he looked, must needs behold her too, and gave a sudden, glad cry, and ran out from behind the great bulk of “King Arthur,” and she, hearing his voice, turned and ran to meet him, and sank upon her knees before him, and clasped him against her heart, and rejoiced, and wept, and scolded him, all in a breath.  Wherefore Bellew, unobserved, as yet in “King Arthur’s” shadow, watching the proud head with its wayward curls, (for the sunbonnet had been tossed back upon her shoulders), watching the quick, passionate caress of those slender, brown hands, and listening to the thrilling tenderness of that low, soft voice, felt, all at once, strangely lonely, and friendless, and out of place, very rough and awkward, and very much aware of his dusty person,—­felt, indeed, as any other ordinary human might, who had tumbled unexpectedly into Arcadia; therefore he turned, thinking to steal quietly away.

“You see, Auntie, I went out to try an’ find a fortune for you,” Small Porges was explaining, “an’ I looked, an’ looked, but I didn’t find a bit—­”

“My dear, dear, brave Georgy!” said Anthea, and would have kissed him again, but he put her off: 

“Wait a minute, please Auntie,” he said excitedly, “’cause I did find—­something,—­just as I was growing very tired an’ disappointed, I found Uncle Porges—­under a hedge, you know.”

“Uncle Porges!” said Anthea, starting, “Oh! that must be the man Mr. Cassilis mentioned—­”

“So I brought him with me,” pursued Small Porges, “an’ there he is!” and he pointed triumphantly towards “King Arthur.”

Glancing thither, Anthea beheld a tall, dusty figure moving off among the trees.

“Oh,—­wait, please!” she called, rising to her feet, and, with Small Porges’ hand in hers, approached Bellew who had stopped with his dusty back to them.

“I—­I want to thank you for—­taking care of my nephew.  If you will come up to the house cook shall give you a good meal, and, if you are in need of work, I—­I—­” her voice faltered uncertainly, and she stopped.