an, who appeared too ill to leave her chair.

After bending over and listening to her instructions, he stepped
forward nearer the footlights. There in the center of the room was a
bowl of water in which he placed the feather and the scale.

"Wish for thyself anything thou desirest, fortune, greatness, wit,
power," murmurs the old woman. "But embrace me first, as I feel that I
am dying."

But Grazioso did not approach either to embrace or ask the old woman's
blessing.

"I wish my grandmother to live forever!" he cried. "Appear, Fairy of
the Woods. Appear, Fairy of the Water!"

And now in perfect silence Polly O'Neill made her entrance. She moved
very slowly forward, so slim and young and tall, with such big,
dark-blue eyes, and such slender, elfish grace that she did not look
like a real flesh-and-blood girl.

The audience stirred, and a little breath of appreciation moved through
it, which Polly was almost learning to expect.

She wore her own black hair unbound and hanging loose below her
shoulders. It was made blacker by the wreath of leaves that encircled
her head. She was dressed in an olive-green gown of some soft,
clinging material and a scarf of snake's skin was fastened over her
shoulder.

The Fairy of the Water followed Polly. Her gown was white with a blue
scarf, and she was small and blonde. She was a pretty girl, but
somehow there was no suggestion of the fairy about her. One could see
the same type of girl any time, standing behind a counter in a shop, or
dancing at a party of young people.

Polly's grace and her ardent, unconventional temperament made it easy
to understand why the attention should be focused upon her during this
single scene. Besides, she had one long speech to deliver.

This was the moment when the girl felt her only real nervousness. For
always there was the uncertainty as to whether her voice would be
strong and full enough to be heard throughout the theater. Tonight and
for the first time she hesitated for a second. Yet no one noticed it,
except the actors near her and Esther, who had crept forth, for a
closer view in spite of the stage regulations.

"Have you forgotten your lines, child?" the leading man whispered so
quietly that no one could overhear.

But Polly only smiled, with a faint shake of her graceful head.

"Here we are, my child," she began the next instant, speaking in clear,
girlish tones that showed nothing of indecision or embarrassment.