Lynn looked across the garden to the rose-bush, where a cobweb, dew-impearled, had captured a bit of wandering rainbow. "They are far from impossible," he answered. "I think they were here only the other night, for in the morning, when I went out to look at my vegetables, I found something queer among the leaves." "Something queer, my dear?" asked Aunt Peace, with interest. "What was it?" "A leaf of rosemary and a sprig of mignonette, tied round with a blade of grass and wet with dew." "How strange," said Margaret. "How could it have happened?" "Rosemary," said Aunt Peace, "that means remembrance, and the mignonette means the hope of love. A very pretty message for a fairy to leave among your vegetables." "Very pretty," repeated the Doctor, nodding appreciation. Iris feared they heard the loud beating of her heart. "What do you think?" asked Lynn, turning to her. "Was it a fairy?" "Of course," she returned, with assumed indifference. "Who else?" There was silence then, and in the house the clock struck ten. They heard it plainly, and the Doctor, with a start of recollection, took out his huge silver watch. "I had no idea it was so late," he said. "I must go." "One moment, Doctor," began Miss Field, putting out a restraining hand. "Let me offer you some refreshment before you start upon that long walk. Iris?" "Yes, Aunt Peace." "Those little cakes that we had for tea--there may be one or two left--and is there not a little wine?" "I'll see." Lynn followed her, and presently they came back, with the Royal Worcester plate piled generously with cakes, and a decanter of the port that was famous throughout East Lancaster. With a smile upon her lips, the old lady leaned forward, into the moonlight, glass in hand. The brim of another touched it and the clear ring of crystal seemed carried afar into the night. "To your good health, madam." "And to your prosperity." "This has been very charming," said the Doctor, as he brushed away the crumbs, "and now, my dear Miss Iris, may we not hope for a song?" "Which one?" "'Annie Laurie,' if you please." Iris went in, and Margaret made a move to follow her. "Don't go, mother," said Lynn, "let's stay here." "I'm afraid Aunt Peace will take cold." "No, dearie, I have my shawl. Let me be young again, just for to-night, with no fear of draughts or colds. Midsummer has never hurt anyone, and, as Doctor Brinkerhoff says, the good fairies are abroad to-night." The old-fashioned ballad took on new beauty and meaning. Mellowed by the distance, the girl's deep contralto was surpassingly tender and sweet. When she came out, the others were silent, with the spell of her song still upon them. "A good voice," said Lynn, half to himself. "She should study." "Iris has had lessons," returned Aunt Peace, with gentle dignity, "and her voice pleases her friends. What is there beyond that?" "Fame," said Lynn.