il waggings and
grins which exposed rows of smiling teeth.

"Dion!" came Rosamund's voice from above.

"Yes?"

"Do show him the way up. He wants to come up."

Dion got up, took the little Greek's hand firmly, led him to the foot
of the ladder, and pointed to Rosamund who leaned from her brushwood
chamber and held out inviting hands, smiling, and looking at the child
with shining eyes. He understood that he was very much wanted, gravely
placed his staff on the ground, laid hold of the ladder, and slowly
clambered up, with the skirts of his coat sticking out behind him. His
dog set up a loud barking, scrambled at the ladder, and made desperate
efforts to follow him.

"Help him up, Dion!" came the commanding voice from above.

Dion seized the curly coat of the dog--picked up handfuls of dog. There
was a struggle. The dog made fierce motions as if swimming, and whined
in a thin and desperate soprano. Its body heaved upwards, its forepaws
clutched the edge of the brushwood floor, and it arrived.

"Bravo!" cried Rosamund, as she proceeded to settle down with her
guests. "But why don't I know Greek?"

"It doesn't matter," Dion murmured, standing with his hands on the
ladder. "You know their language."

Rosamund was sitting now, half-curled up, with her back against the
brushwood wall. Her light sun-helmet lay on the floor. In her ruffled
hair were caught two or three thin brown leaves, their brittle edges
curled inwards. The little boy, slightly smiling, yet essentially
serious, as are children tested by a great new experience, squatted
close to her and facing her, with one leg under him, the other leg
stretched out confidentially, as much as to say, "Here it is!" The dog
lay close by panting, smiling, showing as much tongue and teeth as
was caninely possible in the ardor of feeling tremendously uplifted,
important, one of the very few.

And Rosamund proceeded to entertain her guests.

What did she do? Sometimes, long afterwards in England, Dion, recalling
that day--a very memorable day in his life--asked himself the question.
And he could never remember very much. But he knew that Rosamund showed
him new aspects of tenderness and fun. What do women who love and
understand little boys do to put them at their ease, to break down their
small shynesses? Rosamund did absurd things with deep earnestness and
complete concentration. She invented games, played with twigs and straws
which she drew from the walls of her ch