"Oh, no, that's Steppie. She's a kind of mother, you know. Daddy made her into one. She's a wunnerful person, most comf'able to lean your head against when it aches. And I'm tremenjously fond of her. She makes you laugh when you feel like crying, and she gives the most lovely surprises in the world. She got me my chair for the pony, and Josie and Georgie their ponies. There's nothing she can't do, but the thing we like best about her is her stories. She has bookfuls in her head, and most of them she makes up herself." "Who are Josie and Georgie? Your brothers?" "Oh, no, they're only girls." Ruffie's tone was pitying. "They've always wished they were boys, but God didn't mean them to be. Steppie says nobody can't have everything they want. They can't be boys, and I can't have my legs, and she can't be a little girl again. And—" here his face twinkled impishly—"you can't have your car to go home with!" "I'm afraid I can't," the lady said with a grim smile. "Go on talking to take my mind off my misfortune. Is your father at home?" "No." Ruffie's face became dejected. "He's always, nearly always at sea in his yacht. He's been longer at home this last time than I ever remember before, and I did hope he'd forgotten the sea. I believe, if Steppie coaxed him very hard, he'd stay at home always. She's got such a coaxing face with holes in her cheeks when she laughs, and she puts her face down next yours, she's so soft and cuddly, that it makes all your wicked thoughts go away, and you hug her, and—and do egsackly as she tells you. Dad said to me, he 'spected she was happiest when he was away, and when I asked her was she, she wouldn't answer. I wish I could think of a kind of spell like the fairies and witches make in stories, that would keep Dad from going away from us. A kind of line that we could draw round the lake, and our house, which he couldn't possibly step over." "The only spell that could do that would be love," said the lady gravely, "and your father has only loved one person in the world, I believe, and that is himself." Ruffie's colour rose. He looked at the lady indignantly. "You don't know Dad; he loves me, he loves me from the very bottom of his heart, and I love him!" "I knew your Dad when he was a little boy and he always loved himself first." "Did you know him as a little boy? Did he know you?" This was quite an exciting discovery to Ruffie. "Yes, we knew each other through and through. You are rather like him in face."