"Why, you poor kiddie!" said he, "and you ought to be playing tag or
tennis or something. I can't see much of you, except one braid that
the light's on; but you're just a little thing, aren't you?"
Joy did not answer. She looked up at him, as the crack of light
widened behind him, and showed him clearly for a moment. He was so
very handsome, standing there with his brows contracted in a little
frown over his pleasant gray eyes, that Joy felt her heart do a
queer thing, as if it turned over.
He came a little nearer her, and sat down on the floor, below her,
quite naturally.
"And you're awfully lonesome, and you wish something would happen?"
said his kind voice. It was a lovely voice, Joy thought. It was
authoritative, yet with a little caressing note in it, as if he
would look after you very carefully--and you would love it.
"How did you know?" she asked.
"Oh, I just could tell," he said, and it seemed a perfectly clear
explanation. "Well, don't forget that there's lots of time yet. You
just keep on believing things _will_ happen--don't lose heart--and
maybe they will."
Somehow, the way he said it, Joy was sure they would.
"Like a wishing ring?" she asked eagerly.
He laughed.
"You _are_ a kiddie. Why, yes, like a wishing ring, if you like."
Before Joy could answer there came a brisk voice from the door.
"Oh, this is where you've hidden! You may be decorative, Jack, but
as an escort I've known nephews more useful.
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