“How did the man who wrote them know of my illness, and how I dreamed and troubled about the daffodils?” “He knew nothing of you.” “He must have done so. He says he was lonely as a cloud, and I am Kitty Alone.” “Is that your name?” “They call me so because I have no companions and no friends, and because”--She checked herself and hung her head. “But you have relatives.” “Yes--my father and Aunt Zerah. But for all that I am alone. They are grown big and old, and so of course cannot understand me--a child. And at school I didn’t have friends. Then the man must have been here, for he says-- ‘Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle in the Milky Way, They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay.’ There they are--‘in never-ending line.’” “There are daffodils elsewhere, as there are solitary spirits elsewhere than in this little being”--and Walter lightly touched the girl’s brow. Both were silent for a minute. Presently Kate said, “When I was looking at the daffodils, as the sun was on them, they blazed in at my eyes and I was full of light, and now those beautiful words are like the sun on the flowers that I shall carry away with me, and as I lie in bed in the dark I shall think of them, and the golden light will fill my room and fill my heart-- ‘Flashing upon that inward eye, Which is the bliss of solitude.’ That is true of the inward eye. You can see more with that than with the real eye. The man was a prophet. He knew and wrote of things that are not known or are not talked about in the world.” “So they call you Kitty Alone. You did not give me the second reason. What is that reason?” The girl looked embarrassed. “You will laugh at me.” “Indeed I will not,” answered Bramber earnestly. She still hesitated. “You fear me? Surely you can trust me.” “You are so good--indeed I can. You speak to me as does no one else, and that is just why I do not wish to appear ridiculous in your eyes.” “That you never will.” Then she said, blushing and hanging her head, “It is all along of a song my father sings.” “What song is that?” “It is some silly nonsense about a frog that lived in a well--and the burden is--‘Kitty Alone’--and then ‘Kitty Alone and I.'” “Sing me the words.” She did as requested. “The air is pleasant and very quaint. It deserves better words. Will you remain here whilst I run for my violin?” “Yes, unless my aunt calls me within.” Walter Bramber hastened to his lodgings, and brought away his cherished instrument. He made the girl sing over a few verses of the song, and then struck in with the violin.