"Aw shucks," returned the boy, shaking off his sister's hand with manly impatience. "Couldn't I wait 'til she was away somewheres else 'fore I touched it off? An', anyway, what if yer wonderful princess lady _was_ to git hurt, I guess she's one of 'em, ain't she?" Poor Maggie, almost in tears, was considering this doubtful reassurance when Bobby suddenly pointed again toward that pretentious estate on the hillside, and cried in quick excitement: "Look-ee, Mag, there's a autermobile a-comin' out from the castle, right now--see? She's a-goin' down the hill toward town. Who'll yer bet it is? Old Adam Ward his-self, heh?" Little Maggie's face brightened joyously. "Maybe it's the princess lady, Bobby." "And who is this that you call the princess lady, Maggie?" asked the Interpreter. Bobby answered for his sister. "Aw, she means old Adam's daughter. She's allus a-callin' her that an' a-makin' up stories about her." "Oh, so you know Miss Helen Ward, too, do you?" The Interpreter was surprised. The boy turned his back on the landscape as though it held nothing more of interest to him. "Naw, we've just seen her, that's all." Stealing timidly back to the side of the wheel chair, the little girl looked wistfully up into the Interpreter's face. "Do yer--do yer know the princess lady what lives in the castle?" she asked. The old basket maker, smiling down at her, answered, "Yes, dear, I have known your princess lady ever since she was a tiny baby--much smaller than you. And did you know, Maggie, that she was born in the old house down there, next door to Charlie and Mary Martin?" "An'--an' did she live there when she was--when she was as big as me?" Bobby interrupted with an important "Huh, I know her brother John is a boss in the Mill. He was in the war, too, with Captain Charlie. Did he live in the old house when he was a kid?" "Yes." "An'--an' when the princess lady was little like me, an' lived in the old house, did yer play with her?" asked Maggie. The Interpreter laughed softly. "Yes, indeed, often. You see I worked in the Mill, too, in those days, Maggie, with her father and Peter Martin and--" "That was when yer had yer real, sure-nuff legs, wasn't it?" the boy interrupted. "Yes, Bobby. And every Sunday, almost, I used to be at the old house where the little princess lady lived, or at the Martin home next door, and Helen and John and Charlie and Mary and I would always have such good times together." Little Maggie's face shone with appreciative interest. "An' did yer tell them fairy stories sometimes?" "Sometimes." The little girl sighed and tried to get still closer to the man in the wheel chair. "I like fairies, don't yer?" "Indeed, I do," he answered heartily. "Skinny and Chuck, they said yer tol' _them_ stories, too." The Interpreter laughed quietly. "I expect perhaps I did." "I don't suppose yer know any fairy stories right now, do yer?"