Followed by her little girl of six or seven, Mrs. Lee came out on the piazza. She had the same light, waving air as Stewart, the same slender grace; her kind gray eyes and sensitive lips made her seem as charming to the boy as when, a week before, she had come to him and thanked him in gentle, broken words. She now held out both hands, and said, "You see he is quite well, Floyd;" and Floyd shyly gave her his right hand and was pleased because she had called him by his Christian name. The little girl, hiding behind her mother's skirt, peered out at Floyd with a grave and silent curiosity.
"Come here, Goldilocks," he besought her; and then, as she only shrank from sight, he tried coaxing. "I want to show you something."
Mrs. Lee stooped and brought the child round to him.
"When your hair is all gold, I don't see why you want to mix silver with it," Floyd said gravely; and he reached out his hand, stroked the child's head, and then displayed to her astonished eyes a silver quarter.
"Oh, you had it in your hand all the time!" she cried accusingly, while her mother and brother laughed.
Floyd was hurt by the suspicion. He passed his right hand over the left and showed her his empty palm. "Why, I do believe I see more money!" he exclaimed. She turned up her eyes, trying to follow the movement of his hand; she felt it snuggle, for a moment under her little pigtail, and then—he was holding another silver quarter before her face!
She laughed a little, but she was awed.
"Are there any more on me?" she asked, turning slowly round.
"No—wait a moment—no," Floyd said. "I thought I saw a ten-cent piece, but it was n't, after all." He held out his hand to Stewart. "Good-by," he said. "I'm awfully glad that you're all right again. Good-by, Mrs. Lee; good-by, Goldie."
