"If only I could tell Ysenda," he said aloud. The opportunity for so doing was coming nearer, though he knew it not. On their way home Dame Martha and the children met the farmer and his daughter. Ysenda stopped to speak to them, and her father, who happened to be in a very good humour, as he had made excellent terms for the sale of his numerous stacks of hay, accosted the old woman kindly enough, though he had been one of those who had called her very foolish for accepting the charge of the penniless orphans. "Well, dame," he began, "and how goes the world with you?" and almost before Ysenda heard the first words of her reply, the young girl guessed, what indeed she was already sure of, that Michael's trial of the magic spell had succeeded--so bright and happy looked the dame, so bursting with joyful excitement were Paul and Mattie. "Oh, I am all of a tremble with thankfulness," replied Martha. "Such a feast as we have had! Never was there a kinder host than young Michael----" "And, and," interrupted the children, forgetting their shyness, "we're to have dinner with him every Sunday--just fancy that! And see what we've got to take home for a treat," and they held out the beautiful oranges. "I _am_ pleased----" began Ysenda, but her father interrupted her. "Young Michael, did you say," he inquired, turning to the dame, "young _Michael_! How comes it that he can afford to give feasts? I thought it was all he could do to keep himself--not to speak of feasting." "And a real feast it was," said Martha, "roast ducks, and pies, and----" "Plum-pudding, and these oranges and apples," the children went on. "And every Sunday, sir, every Sunday it's to be the same--dinner with him." "Glad to hear it," said the farmer, rather shortly. Then with a nod of farewell, and a sweet smile from his daughter, the two walked on. For a few moments neither spoke. They were near their own home by this time. Suddenly the farmer exclaimed: "Queer business this seems of young Michael's. He's a steady, hard-working fellow, but none too well-off. Maybe old Peter left him something after all--unbeknown to any one?" He did not exactly ask the question of Ysenda, but he looked at her as he spoke. He knew how very friendly she had been with the old man. She smiled, and her pretty eyes lighted up. "Maybe," was all she said. But an hour or two later, when her father had finished smoking his Sunday afternoon pipe, he called her. "Ysenda," he said,--he was sitting in the porch, for the day was mild for the time of year,--"Ysenda, I'm thinking about that young fellow--Michael." "Yes, father?" she said questioningly.