e always managed
like chance happenings. Always there was a sense of surprise, a thrill
of unbelievable good luck attending them; but there was, also, a growing
sense of assurance and understanding.

"I wonder," Joan said once, pressing hard against the shield that
protected them, "I wonder if you and I would have played so delightfully
had we been--well--introduced! Miss Jones and Mr. Black."

"No!" Raymond burst in positively. "Miss Jones would have been enveloped
in the things expected of Miss Jones, and Mr. Black would have been kept
busy--keeping off the grass!"

"Aren't you ever afraid," Joan mused on, "that some day we'll suddenly
come across each other when our shields are left behind in--in the
secret tower?"

"I try not to think of it," Raymond leaned toward the girl; "but if we
did we'd know each other a lot better than most girls and fellows are
ever allowed to know each other," he said.

"Do you think so?" Joan looked wistfully at him. "You see this isn't
real; it's play, and I'm afraid Miss Jones and Mr. Black would be
awfully suspicious of each other--just on account of the play."

"And so--we'll make sure that shields are always in commission," Raymond
reassured her. "In this small world of ours we cannot run any risks with
Miss Jones and Mr. Black. They have no part here."

"No, they haven't!" Joan leaned back. That subtle weakness was touching
her; the aftermath of strained imagination. She was often homesick for
Doris and Nancy--she was getting afraid that she might not be able to
find her way back to them when the time came to go.

"Poor little girl!" Raymond was saying over the table, and his words
fitted into the tune the fountain sang--it was the same tune the
fountain sang in the sunken room of long ago; all fountains, Joan had
grown to think, sang the same lovely, drippy song.

"I wonder just how brave and free a little girl it is?"

Joan screwed up her lips.

"Limitless," she whispered, daringly.

"You're played out, child!" Raymond went on; "there are blue shadows
under your eyes. I wish you'd let me do something for you."

"You are doing something," the words came slowly, caressingly; "you're
making a hard time very beautiful; you're making me believe--in--in
fairies, or what stands for fairies, nowadays; you're making me trust
myself and for ever after when--when I slip back where I belong--I'm
going to remember, and be--so glad! You see, I know, now, that in the
world of gro