ke you." She added, as if to herself: "He takes two
lumps of sugar in his coffee, one in his tea, wants dry toast, and
likes his omelet _buttered_."

And when I stared at her, she slipped nearer, and laid her cheek
against mine.

"Sophy," in a soft whisper, "you've made up to me for my father and
my mother, and for the sisters and brothers I never had. We're all
sorts and conditions of folks, aren't we, Sophy?--but none like you,
Sophy; not any one of them all like you!"

At that moment, through the open window, there stole in on the night
air the faintest whisper of music. It wasn't mournful, it wasn't
joyful, but both together; a singing voice, a crying voice, wild and
sweet, part of the night and the trees and the wind, and part, I
think, of the secretest something in the human heart. We had no idea
where it came from; out of the sky, perhaps!

Somebody ran down-stairs, and a moment later the front door opened
softly. The Author had heard, and was afoot. But even as he stepped
outside, Ariel's ghostly music ceased. There was nothing; nobody;
only the night.

CHAPTER X

THE FOREST OF ARDEN

I had seen Alicia whirl away in the Meades' big car. I had seen the
Westmacotes and Miss Emmeline off on what they termed a nature-hunt.
The Author and his secretary were up to the eyes in a new chapter;
The Suffragist was spreading the glad tidings; and Riedriech and
Schmetz had Luis Morenas in hand for the afternoon, visioning the
United States of the World, while he snatched sketches of the
visionaries.

The Author, Mr. Johnson, and I, lunched together.

"Miss Smith," began The Author abruptly, "did you know this house
was built by British and French master masons? No? Well, it was.
Judge Gatchell's father, grandfather, and great-grandfather were
solicitors for this estate, and the judge at last very kindly
allowed me to look through a great batch of papers in his
possession. From these I discovered that one of the Hyndses visited
England in 1727, joined the new lodge lately established there, and
brought one of the brethren, an architect, back to America with
him. Another came from France. These three planned and built this
house, and did it pretty well, too.

"This house-builder, Walsingham Hynds, made his house a sort of
lodge for the brethren, just as in later times his grandsons
sheltered the brethren of those societies that fathered the American
Revolution. Gatchell tells me there is a legend of the