[Illustration:  “Looking up he discovered his visitors.”]

While they talked the rain had ceased, and some rays of watery sunshine found their way in at the window.

“Let’s go to the magician’s and show him the constitution and ask him to join,” Rosalind proposed.

Maurice was willing, and without a thought of the clouds they started gayly up the street.  They were almost there when Rosalind said, “I believe it is going to rain, and we haven’t an umbrella.”

“Perhaps we shall have to stay to supper with Morgan,” Maurice suggested, laughing.

“I had a very good supper there,” said Rosalind.  “I don’t see why everybody should think it was so very funny in me to go.”

“No one else would have done it, that’s all.”

When they looked in at the door of the magician’s shop, he was busy with some scraps of leather.  Around him were bottomless chairs, topless tables, and melancholy sofas with sagging springs exposed to view, and in one corner a tall, empty clock-case.  With his spectacles on the tip of his nose and a pair of large shears in his hand, Morgan might have sat for the picture of some wonder-working genius.  Looking up, he discovered his visitors, and a smile illumined his rugged face, as he waved them a welcome with the big shears.  He was never too busy for company.

“Come in, come in,” he said; and jumping up he got out a feather duster and whisked off a chair for Rosalind, remarking that dust didn’t hurt boys.

Rosalind laid the book on the table among the scraps of leather, open at the page where Maurice had written the name of the society and the motto.  Pointing to it, they explained that they wished him to join.

Adjusting his spectacles, the magician carefully read the constitution.

“The Secret of the Forest?  What’s that?” he asked.

Rosalind pointed to the motto, whereupon he nodded approvingly, and went on.  “Search for the ring—­” he looked up questioningly; but when it was explained, he shook his head.  “Stolen,” he said.

Reciprocity seemed to amuse him greatly.  He repeated it several times, glancing from one to the other of his visitors.

“Do you suppose he knows what it means?” Maurice asked Rosalind.

The magician’s quick eyes understood the question.  “Golden Rule?” he asked.

“Why, I did not think of that!” cried Rosalind.

“Morgan has a lot of sense,” Maurice replied, with an air of proprietorship.

When he had read it all, the magician nodded approvingly.  “I’ll have to join because you have my motto,” he said.

“Then we have six members to begin with,” Rosalind remarked joyfully.

By this time it had grown dark again and the rain was beginning to fall, and while the magician, having a good deal on hand, continued his work, Maurice and Rosalind sat on the claw-footed sofa, regardless of dust.  Curly Q. and Crisscross both sought refuge in the shop, and the latter proved himself capable of sociability by jumping up beside Rosalind.