"And will you take me to this wonderful person to-morrow?" "Yes, sir." Carey now came out of the hall with her cart, and David drew her across the lawn, Janey dancing by his side. Down through the meadows wound a wheel-tracked road leading to a patch of dense woods which, to a little girl with a big imagination, could easily become a wild forest infested with all sorts of nameless terrors--terrors that make one draw the bedclothes snugly over the head at night. She gave a little frightened cry as they came into the cool, olive depths. "I am afraid, David. Take me!" He lifted her to his shoulder, and her soft cheek nestled against his face. "Now you are not afraid," he said persuasively. "No; but I would be if you put me down." They went farther into the oak depths, until they came to a fallen tree where they rested. Janey, investigating the forestry, finally discovered a bush with slender red twigs. "Oh," she cried, "now David will show you what beautiful things he can make for us." "I have no pins," demurred David. "I have," triumphantly producing a paper of the needful from her pocket. "I always carry them now." David broke up the long twigs into short pieces, from which he skillfully fashioned little chairs and tables, discoursing the while to Carey on the beauty and safety of the woods. Finally Carey acquired courage to hunt for wild flowers, though her hand remained close in David's clasp. When they returned to the house Carey gave a glowing account of the expedition. "Sit down on the steps and rest, children," proposed Mrs. Winthrop, "while Lucy prepares a little picnic dinner for you." "What will we do now, David?" appealed Carey, when they were seated on the porch. "You mustn't do anything but sit still," admonished her mother. "You've done more now than you are used to doing in one day." "Davey will tell us a story," suggested Janey. "Yes, please, David," urged Carey, coming to him and resting her eyes on his inquiringly, while her little hand confidently sought his knee. Instinctively and naturally his fingers closed upon it. Embarrassed as he was at having a strange audience, he could not resist the child's appeal. "She'll like the kind that you don't," he said musingly to Janey, "the kind about fairies and princes." "Yes," rejoined Carey. So he fashioned a tale, partly from recollections of Andersen but mostly from his own fancy. As his imagination kindled, he forgot where he was. Inspired by the spellbound interest of the dainty little girl with the worshiping eyes, he achieved his masterpiece. "Upon my word," exclaimed Mr. Winthrop, "you are a veritable Scheherazade! You didn't make up that story yourself?" "Only part of it," admitted David modestly. When he and Janey started for home David politely delivered M'ri's message of invitation for Carey to come to the farm on the morrow to play. "It is going to be lovely here," said the little girl happily. "And we are going to come every summer."