She dipped slightly away from him, but continued to hold his hand. They stood side by side looking upward.
"You used to play here all your time when you were a little girl," said the Colonel. "All by yourself. I used to see you sitting there very still on the crook of that big limb; and I used to wonder what you could be doing to sit still so long."
"Godpapa, do you believe in fairies?" demanded Daphne, abruptly.
"Well, bless my soul, what a question!" cried the Colonel, looking down in mock astonishment. "Of course I don't! What sensible man does? But," he added quaintly, lowering his voice and looking about him, "there are a few near the Fern Falls."
"That is a perfect answer," Daphne told him sedately. "Well, Dolman, I believe, is a fairy: a tree fairy. He lives in this oak. That's why I named it Dolman's House."
"I often wondered," said the Colonel.
"When I was a child I used to sit on the limb and talk to Dolman."
"Did you ever see him?"
"I can't say I ever did, but I am not sure. That is something, godpapa, that I never could understand. I ought to remember clearly enough: it wasn't so very long ago."
"Not so very," agreed the Colonel.
"But it's dim, and misty, like seeing the mountains when the fog is breaking. I sometimes think I remember clearly what happened, and then it's blotted out. I can't explain exactly"
"I think I understand," said the Colonel. "There are some things that way with my recollections of my youth."
"Only it isn't so strange with you," said Daphne seriously, "because you are so extremely old."
"Extremely," agreed the Colonel. "But tell me more about what you do remember."
"It sounds rather silly," said Daphne. "Of course, I don't believe in it now. But I used to. Somehow I always knew of Dolman. I used to play with him—I think—he used to talk with me. It is hard to remember that it was all imagination.
