Part 2 (2/2)

The lashes went up as she spoke and he got a good view of those lovely eyes of hers. They held him spellbound. The evident admiration in his glance caused the lashes to fall, and he, released from the momentary thraldom, exclaimed:

”Worry! How could she?”

”She is a perfect little glutton for stories. Once you indulge her, she will do her best to make your life unbearable with her clamour for more.

With food of that sort within reach she is a regular Oliver Twist.”

A gratified little laugh--he thought he saw the door to Friends.h.i.+p opening a little wider--accompanied his answer:

”Oh, story-telling is in my particular line! I am full of fiction to the brim!”

She reciprocated his laugh, and as she picked up, to resume, her book, said:

”Well, I have warned you! The consequences be on your own head.”

”I am moved to disregard your warning! Gracie is so excellent a listener. That is so flattering, you know.” Then turning to the child, he continued: ”Now, run on to the sands and finish your castle, little woman, before the tide reaches it. When it can no longer withstand Old Ocean's a.s.saults and is washed away, come back. Then I will tell you what became of Jack after the fairy had rescued him from the three-headed giant.”

The child was sitting on his knee with her arms round his neck. Between the kisses she was giving him, said:

”You dear old thing! You are the very nicest, delightfullest, beautifullest story-teller I ever met.”

”I am dethroned then?” The observation from Miss Mivvins. ”I used to be told that.”

”Y-y-yes. But you never told me tales like Prince Charlie's.”

Prince Charlie was a character in one of the stories Masters had told the child. A prince who had rescued innumerable princesses from giants, ogres and demons. Instantly it had pleased the listener to christen the narrator after the hero.

All her people, she informed him gravely, she christened out of stories.

It was much nicer than calling them by their real names. They were so much prettier and lots easier to remember--didn't he think so?

Yes, he had made answer. He quite thought that Prince Charlie was an improvement on his own name. But Gracie betrayed no anxiety to know what that was. To her henceforth he was Prince Charlie. That was quite sufficient--she was a G.o.dmother of the most self-satisfied type.

Turning to Miss Mivvins the child continued, with a trace of reproach in her voice--she felt she had been defrauded:

”Besides, your giants never had three heads!”

A trinity of that description--unity is strength--appeared an unanswerable argument; seemed to her to clinch the matter. She climbed down from Masters' knee, and jumped her way down the steps to the sands, with bucket and spade rattling in her little hand.

As she disappeared, Masters took his courage in both hands; a trifle nervously continued the conversation:

”I shall have to prescribe a course of Grimm's _Fairy Tales_, if you wish to resume your position as story-teller-in-chief.”

His speech was at random. The ice was broken; they had spoken; he did not want the coldness of silence to freeze it all over again. Having got in the thin edge of the wedge he proposed to drive it right home--if possible. Hence his speech.

Miss Mivvins laughed. The child liked him--so did she. Fearful of driving her away, he had not attempted to force conversation. She had curled up a trifle because of his reserve--hence they had spoken but little. Unknown to themselves their communication had been more subtle than that of words, perhaps had paved the way for them. They came easily enough now.

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