The door opened without ceremony directly into the living-room. The leaded windows were pushed back; roses stared in and bent inquisitively across the sills, spilling their petals. The house was silent; it was like stealing into someone's heart when the soul was absent. Guns on the walls, brilliant little sketches, golf-sticks in a corner, old oak furniture, a mandolin lying in a chair--everything betrayed the room's habitation by a strong and alluring personality. Peter, looking round, became conscious of a spirit of loneliness and yearning. On the walls were pictures of many beautiful women, but in the house itself were no signs of a woman's hands. The boy explained. “He's not here to-day. He's gone to town. This is where we play; it's upstairs that he works.” He volunteered no information concerning the task at which the Faun Man worked. Casting his eyes round the walls, he said, “Those are all his girls. Pretty! Oh, yes. But they give me an awful lot of trouble. Want some tea? Yes?” He went out into the kitchen at the back. He let the children follow him, but refused their offers of help. “I'm a rare little cook, I can tell you. Had to be on our ranch in America--there was no one else. You just watch me.” But Kay had been thinking. She had supposed that there were mothers everywhere--that every boy had a----. She said, “Where are your mother and sisters?” He looked up from toasting some bread. “Haven't any.” She laid her hand on his arm. “But--but didn't you ever have any?” He answered cheerfully, not at all sorry for himself, “Nope. Not that I remember.” She glanced at her brother. “Peter and I've always been together.” Peter added, “So that's why you thought girls cried for nothing? You don't know anything about them. I shouldn't have been angry.” The boy winked joyfully. “Oh, don't I know anything! Leave that to the Faun Man. I know just as much as I want to. But say, I'd have liked to have had your sister for my sister. I really would have.” Kay leant over his shoulder as he knelt before the fire. “If I were your sister, d'you know what I'd do for you? I'd tell you not to climb trees and, if you did do it, I'd mend your clothes for you.”