"Why, it's Mar--Rosamond Curwood, isn't it?" he exclaimed. "And, by George, I'll say you're some artist, Mr. Lord!" "It is lovely, isn't it?" said the old man, happily. "I remember how I enjoyed taking it. Not many regular photographers were doing outdoor backgrounds at that time, but I had nothing here"--he glanced scornfully at the stiffly painted old screens--"nothing that was suitable. And I did want to keep a memory of the way the child looked in that fairy dress. I saw her at the school in a little play, and persuaded her--not that there was any trouble about that--to sit for me. It was a curious thing how well Rosamond acted in all the little entertainments they gave at the school.... At the same time, I don't think she was half so clever, in that way, as Anne, but of course Anne was so shy that she would never appear in public, and I imagine almost no one knew that she had any talent. I only found it out, myself, by accident." Peter saw in this the old man's habitual defence of his favourite, a natural siding with "the underdog." To humour this kindly quality, he asked: "How was that?" "Why," said Walter Lord, reminiscently, "it started one day when I was going up to their house through the woods. I was walking along quietly, and suddenly I thought I heard someone talking, half singing, a little way to the left, behind a screen of young hemlock. The words, such as I could catch, sounded strangely familiar. My curiosity got the better of me, and I slipped quietly through the bushes and parted the hemlock sprays. There, in a tiny open glade, was little Anne, dancing lightly in the sunshine and half singing: "If we shadows have offended, Think but this, and all is mended---- That you have slumbered here, While these visions did appear---- "You know, Mr. Clancy--the last part of 'Midsummer Night's Dream'." Peter was not any too familiar with Shakespeare, but he nodded in silent acquiescence, and the old man went on: "I found out, after that, that she knew simply miles of Shakespeare. She used to recite for me, under strict pledge of secrecy, in the woods, on long, summer afternoons. You should have heard her, as little Arthur, in 'King John,' plead for her eyes--'O, spare mine eyes, if for no use, but still to look on thee!' Her voice was enough to break a body's heart.... But, of course, she had no chance, poor child, with that dreadful mark on her face." "Was it such a terrible disfigurement?" asked Peter, eager to get an accurate description. "Where was it and how large?" "It was just here"--Walter Lord placed his curved palm upon his lower jaw, with the fingers extending up on the cheek. "It was almost like the mark of a hand, a bloody hand----" The old man frowned and sadly shook his head. "Too bad, too bad. Wrecked the poor child's life ... seems terrible ... such a little thing--but, for a girl----"