ndering
life and the sore straits of it voiced itself in one cry, "I don't want
to go. I want to stay."

"Stay, dear playmate," said the other voice. "There never will be a
night when I'm not here. Is the playhouse key in your hand, all tight
and warm? I wear mine round my neck. We shan't lose them."

Immediately she felt that she must tell him her new trouble.

"My father is coming here," she said, in a low tone.

"Ah!" he answered quickly. "You won't like that."

"How do you know?"

"From what you said the other night. You don't like him."

"Is it dreadful to you, if I don't like my father?"

She put it anxiously, with timidity, and he answered,--

"It's inevitable. He hasn't treated you well."

She was staring at him through the darkness, though she could see
nothing.

"You are a wizard," she said, "a wizard. Why do you say he has not
treated me well?"

"Because I see how you hate him. You would never hate without reason.
You are all gentleness. You know you are. You'd go on your knees to the
man that was your father, and beg him to be good enough so you could
love him. And if you couldn't--George! that settles him. Why, playmate,
you're not crying!"

She was crying softly to herself. But for a little unconsidered sniff he
need not have known it.

"I like to cry," she said, in a moment. "I like to cry--like this."

"It's awful," said the other voice, apparently to itself, "to make you
cry and not know how to stop you. Don't do it, playmate!"

She laughed then.

"I won't cry," she promised. "But if you knew how pleasant it is when it
only means somebody understands and likes you just as well--"

"Better," said the voice. "I always like you better. Whatever you do,
that's the effect it has. Now let's talk about your father. We can't
stop his coming?"

"No. Nobody ever stopped him yet in anything."

"Then what can we do to him after he gets here?"

"That's what I am trying to think. Sometimes I'm afraid I must run
away--before he comes."

"Yes, playmate, if you think so." There was something sharp in the tone:
a quick hurt, a premonition of pain, and it was soothing to her.

"But I've so little money." She said that to herself, and his answer
shocked her.

"There's money, if that's all. I'll bury it here under a stone, and you
shall find it."

"No! no! no! How could you! oh, how could you!"

The voice was hurt indeed now, and willing to be thought so.

"Why, playmate, is that so dread