It was sweet to both of them, to her to declare and to him to hear, that neither Tom nor any other possessed her heart. Their shy glances were like an outreach of tenderly touching hands as she confided, “Mrs. Arty and he get up picnics, and when we’re out on the Palisades he says to me—you know, sometimes he almost makes me think he _is_ sleepy, though I do believe he just sneaks off under a tree and talks to Mrs. Arty or reads a magazine—but I was saying: he always says to me, ‘Well, sister, I suppose you want to mousey round and dream by yourself—you won’t talk to a growly old bear like me. Well, I’m glad of it. I want to sleep. I don’t want to be bothered by you and your everlasting chatter. Get out!’ I b’lieve he just says that ’cause he knows I wouldn’t want to run off by myself if they didn’t think it was proper.” As he heard her lively effort to imitate Tom’s bass Mr. Wrenn laughed and pounded his knee and agreed: “Yes, Tom’s an awfully fine fellow, isn’t he!… I love to get out some place by myself, too. I like to wander round places and make up the doggondest fool little stories to myself about them; just as bad as a kiddy, that way.” “And you read such an awful lot, Mr. Wrenn! My! Oh, tell me, have you ever read anything by Harold Bell Wright or Myrtle Reed, Mr. Wrenn? They write such sweet stories.” He had not, but he expressed an unconquerable resolve so to do, and with immediateness. She went on: “Mrs. Arty told me you had a real big library—nearly a hundred books and—Do you mind? I went in your room and peeked at them.” “No, course I don’t mind! If there’s any of them you’d like to borrow any time, Miss Nelly, I would be awful glad to lend them to you…. But, rats! Why, I haven’t got hardly any books.” “That’s why you haven’t wasted any time learning Five Hundred and things, isn’t it? Because you’ve been so busy reading and so on?” “Yes, kind of.” Mr. Wrenn looked modest. “Haven’t you always been lots of—oh, haven’t you always ’magined lots?” She really seemed to care. Mr. Wrenn felt excitedly sure of that, and imparted: “Yes, I guess I have…. And I’ve always wanted to travel a lot.” “So have I! Isn’t it wonderful to go around and see new places!” “Yes, _isn’t_ it!” he breathed. “It was great to be in England—though the people there are kind of chilly some ways. Even when I’m on a wharf here in New York I feel just like I was off in China or somewheres. I’d like to see China. And India…. Gee! when I hear the waves down at Coney Island or some place—you know how the waves sound when they come in. Well, sometimes I almost feel like they was talking to a guy—you know—telling about ships. And, oh say, you know the whitecaps—aren’t they just like the waves was motioning at you—they want you to come and beat it with you—over to China and places.” “Why, Mr. Wrenn, you’re a regular poet!” He looked doubtful.