The Wishing-Ring Man | Page 8

say you know no one," she told him.
"Anyway, I'm glad you're talking to me. I'm Joy."
He laughed again, leaning against the door-frame in the thread of light.
"Then you're something I've been looking for a long time," he said.
"I've had friends and success, and good times--but I've never found Joy
till now."
She knew, of course, that he was just being pleasant about her name, as
people were sometimes. But it sounded very lovely to remember.
"I'm Alton Havenith's granddaughter," she explained sedately. And,
with a sudden desire that he should know the worst, she added, "I'm the
one he writes poetry to."
He must have caught a note of regret in her voice--oh, he was a very
wonderful person! for what he said wasn't a bit what Joy expected even
him to say--the "How lovely for you!" that she was braced for.

"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."
Joy looked up and saw a tiny elderly lady, quite a new one, in the

doorway.
"Good-by, Joy," he said in too low a voice for the old lady to hear. "I'm
glad we've met--I can't say I'm glad to have seen you, because I haven't,
you know. But thanks for a human five minutes--and keep hoping."
He sprang lightly to his feet, opened the door, shut the door--was gone,
and Joy was alone in the dark again.
She smiled up at Aunt Lucilla unseeingly.
"Not even Lafayette could have been as kind as that," she said proudly,
and leaned happily against the wall again.
"Why, Joy, dear, don't you want to come in and see the people?"
Grandmother was asking her solicitously, bending over her. "You aren't
sick again, are you?"
Joy sprang up with a little laugh.
"Not a bit," she assured her. "I'm especially all right. Why, yes--I'll
come in if you want me, of course. The people don't matter."
She threaded her way, behind Grandmother, up and down the parlors
for the next hour, quite happy. She'd had such a wonderful five minutes
in the back hall--why, what difference did it make if Mr. James Arthur
Gosport captured her and told her about his ideas on universal
brotherhood? She didn't have to listen specially, because she knew just
what he was going to tell: the story about how he went out from his
parlor-car and hunted through the day-coach to find a brake-man, on
purpose to tell him how fond he was of him. And how the brakeman's
eyes filled up with tears at being loved, and how Mr. Gosport had to
hurry back to his Pullman in order not to go to pieces himself.
When Mr. Gosport told this tale--it was one he used in his lectures, and
it always went splendidly--Joy usually had to keep herself from
wondering why he didn't go to pieces anyhow; he was so long and
loosely built you'd think he was merely pinned together. But this

afternoon she smiled at him so brightly that he liked the way he told the
story better than ever. She was really thinking--
"The man she called Jack is built ever so much better than Mr. Gosport
is. He wouldn't just cry over a brakeman. He'd give him some money
or...."
"It is very wonderful to