She was tremendously glad that at that moment Theodore Hoffman joined them--Peter Hyde had so seriously patted the pocket into which he had placed the ring--as though he really believed it could work its magic! She turned eagerly to the master but he spoke first. "Tell me--I am haunted by a thousand memories--who in the world is this strange little creature?" Nancy told the master of Nonie, of that first night in the orchard, of her strange gift of imagination, of her "pretend" games by which she had persistently gilded over the very rough spots of a sordid, lonely life. "She is always reaching out for the spirit of the things about her and trying to make each her own!" "She is like a flower that has grown up among weeds," muttered the great man, his thoughts far away, a frown wrinkling his brow. "Sometimes, it is in such places that we find the greatest gifts. I wonder," he gave a little start, as though bringing himself, with an effort, back to the garden. "It's always been a hobby of mine, hunting around in queer places for something I can give to my Art. Perhaps you don't understand me, but, wherever I am, I am watching, watching all the time, for a promise of talent that, if properly cultivated and trained, will give something to the greatest of the Arts--dramatic expression." Thrilled, Nancy sat tongue-tied, afraid to speak. He went on: "I said I was haunted--years ago I ran across another child, not unlike this one. She gave rare promise of genius. I put her in my school. I had her there several years. I looked for a great deal from her. But--she failed me." "Did she--die?" The master laughed. "No, she loved a man more than she did her art. I was jealous--unreasonable. I let her go away--heard nothing more of her. I suppose she married. She's probably fat now, with a half-dozen squalling babies. Yes, I was jealous--I wanted to give her to my art, soul and body--as a fanatic would make his offering to his gods. And this child has made me think of her again. It has been a most interesting hour, Miss Leavitt. You say the child's head is full of this sort of thing? H-mm." Now the garden was filled with a babble of voices intermingled with the clinking of spoons and dishes. Someone had overheard the great man's praise of Nonie's "play-actin'," and the word spread quickly. Mrs. Brown allowed it was "just spooky the way that child could make you think she was what she wasn't" and Mrs. Slade's sister's sister-in-law had seen Maude Adams in a play where she'd "pretended something all the time--something 'bout Cinderella, and like as not it might have been 'bout fairies, too." Under the stimulation of iced tea and cakes and caramel ice cream, served from delicate china, praise for Nonie grew and the fairy leaf that Youth carried, so that "people would be kind," began to work its magic in the garden.