She looked down at the heavy Oriental carving with what was
almost terror. She had wished for something on it, and once more her
wish had come true. She was going over to be in the house with John,
to see him whenever he was there, to have him--yes, he would have to
pretend, at least, that they were lovers, because of his mother. She
had as nearly what she had wished for as it was possible for a ring
to manage.
"I almost feel as if I had made that poor old lady have the
rheumatism," she thought with a thrill of fear. Then she pulled
herself up--that was nonsense.
"But anyway," Joy told the ring severely, "I won't touch you when I
make wishes after this. I might wish for something in a hurry, and
be terribly sorry afterwards."
But one thing she did wish then, deliberately. She sat back on her
heels and clasped her fingers over the heavy carving of it. "Please,
dear wishing ring, let John be in love with me!" she begged. The
next moment she was scarlet at her own foolishness. The ring
couldn't do that, if it had belonged to Aladdin himself.
So she went on packing. She was a little afraid and excited, going
off to live in the very house with John, but she couldn't help being
a little glad. She would see him for hours and hours every day.
"And oh, dear ring," she whispered, forgetting that she had promised
not to wish any more, "don't let him get tired of having me around!"
She was not quite done when she heard the impatient wail of Mrs.
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