I hoped he would show off, some, but he didn't. He seemed only interested in being friendly and telling lies. He said he was an orphan. That made Marget pity him. The water came into her eyes. He said he had never known his mamma; she passed away while he was a young thing; and said his papa was in shattered health, and had no property to speak of – in fact none of any earthly value – but he had an uncle in business down in the tropics, and he was very well off and had a monopoly, and it was from this uncle that he drew his support. The very mention of a kind uncle was enough to remind Marget of her own, and her eyes filled again. She said she hoped their two uncles would meet, some day. It made me shudder. Philip said he hoped so, too, and that made me shudder again.

»Maybe they will,« said Marget; »does your uncle travel much?«

»Oh, yes, he goes all about; he has business everywhere.«

»Then he may come here – I hope he will. I should be so glad to see him. What is his business?«

»Souls.«

»Shoe-souls?«

»Yes. He trades in them. Buys them.«

She asked where he lived; but Philip generalised on that, and merely said it was a foreign country.

»Is he a foreigner himself? Was he born there?«

»Well, no. No, he was an emigrant.«

»Is it a trying climate?«

»For some – yes; but he doesn't mind it.«

»Acclimated, I suppose.«

»Yes.«

»Is it a colony?«

»Yes.«

»What nationality?«

»Mixed. But mainly French.«

»And so that is the language in use?«

»It is the official language.«

And so they went on chatting, and poor Marget forgot her sorrows for one little while, anyway. It was probably the only really bright and cheery hour she had known lately. I saw she liked Philip, and I knew she would; anybody would. And when he told her he was studying for the ministry I could see that she liked him better than ever. And then, when he promised to get her admitted to the jail so that she could see her uncle, that was the capstone. He said he would give the guards a little present, and she must always go in the evening after dark, and say nothing, »but just show this paper and pass in, and show it again when you come out« – and he scribbled some queer marks on the paper and gave it her, and she was ever so thankful, and right away was in a fever for the sun to go down; for in that old cruel time prisoners were not allowed to see their friends, and sometimes they spent years in the jails without ever seeing a friendly face. I judged that the marks on the paper were an enchantment, and that the guards would not know what they were doing, nor have any memory of it afterward; and that was indeed the way of it. Ursula put her head in at the door, now, and said –

»Supper's ready, Miss.« Then she saw us and looked frightened, and motioned me to come to her, which I did, and she asked if we had told about the cat. I said no, and she was relieved, and said please don't; for if Miss Marget knew, she would think it was an unholy cat and would send for a priest and have its gifts all purified out of it, and then there wouldn't be any more dividends. So I said we wouldn't tell, and she was satisfied. Then I was beginning to say good-bye to Marget, but Satan interrupted and said, ever so politely – well, I don't remember just the words, but anyway he as good as invited himself to supper, and me, too. Of course Marget was miserably embarrassed, for she had no reason to suppose there would be half enough food for a sick bird. Ursula heard him, and she came straight into the room, not a bit pleased. At first she was astonished to see Marget looking so fresh and rosy, and said so; then she spoke up in her native tongue, which was Bohemian and said – as I learned afterward –

»The impudent thing! inviting himself when nobody's asked him. It's just like him – I've never seen the beat of him for making himself easy on a short acquaintance.