She had
watched it anxiously for weeks, and tended it as it had not been tended
for many years. It bloomed suddenly and beautifully,--"out of sheer
gratitude," Ken said,--and massed a great mound of delicate color
against the silver shingles of the west wall. It bore the sweet, small,
old-fashioned roses that flower a tender pink and fade gracefully to
bluish white. Felicia gathered a bunch of them for the Maestro, who had
bidden the three to come for tea. Neither Ken nor Felicia had, as yet,
met Kirk's mysterious friend, and were still half inclined to think him
a creature of their brother's imagination.
And, indeed, when they met him, standing beside the laden tea-table on
the terrace, they thought him scarcely more of an actuality, so utterly
in keeping was he with the dreaming garden and the still house. Felicia,
who had not quite realized the depth of friendship which had grown
between this old gentleman and her small brother, noted with the
familiar strangeness of a dream the proprietary action with which the
Maestro drew Kirk to him, and Kirk's instant and unconscious response.
These were old and dear friends; Ken and Felicia had for a moment the
curious sensation of being intruders in a forgotten corner of enchanted
land, into which the likeness of their own Kirk had somehow strayed. But
the feeling passed quickly. The Maestro behind the silver urn was a
human being, after all, talking of the Sturgis Water Line--a most
delightful human being, full of kindliness and humor.
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