ul. For
instance, it makes the difference between a plain, straight letter such as
you see in the newspaper and such a letter as I was embroidering
yesterday. Some one's fancy saw the plain S ornamented with curving lines
and sprays of flowers, and so it came to be made so."

"That makes me think of those beautiful books the monks used to make,"
said Maurice.

"The illuminated manuscripts, you mean? That word expresses what fancy
does for us,--it illuminates the plain facts, and fills them with beauty."

"Oh, Miss Celia, that is a lovely idea," cried Rosalind. "I must remember
it to tell Cousin Louis."

"I fear be wouldn't find it very new," Celia answered, smiling.

By noon the fruit was all picked over, and as Celia stood at the gate
watching her helpers out of sight, old Sally came laboring up the walk.

"Law, honey, look like I couldn't rest from studyin' how you was gwine to
git them berries done, an' I 'lowed, misery or no misery, I was comin' to
help you," she announced.

CHAPTER SEVENTEENTH.

A NEW COMRADE.

"I know you are a gentleman of good conceit."

Rosalind and Maurice sat on the garden bench discussing "The Young
Marooners," one of the story books found in the garret.

"I shouldn't like to be carried off by a big fish as they were, but I do
think some sort of an adventure would be interesting. Don't you?" asked
Rosalind.

"We'll have to do something," Maurice agreed, "Don't you wish we could get
inside the Gilpin house? Mr. Wells, the teller in our bank, sleeps there.
I wish he would drop the key."

"Grandmamma says it will be open for people to go through before the sale,
but then it will be too late to look for the ring. Belle is so good at
thinking of things, I wish she would find a way for us to get in,"
Rosalind added.

A bell was heard ringing on the other side of the hedge, and Maurice
rose. "Dinner is ready," he said.

Rosalind walked to the gate with him. "Uncle Allan is coming to-morrow,"
she remarked, "and I just wonder what he is like."

Turning toward the house again, she became aware of a stranger standing
beside the griffins. He was not waiting to get in, for the door was open
behind him, and furthermore he had the air of being at home. Something in
his height and the breadth of his shoulders suggested her father, and as
she drew nearer a certain resemblance to Aunt Genevieve developed.

He watched her approach with a look of puzzled interest. "Surely, this
isn