By no means had the girls forgotten their Dowager Queen of Altruria. They talked of her often; Beryl usually in a speculative vein. Had she brought the court jewels with her? Did that dreadful Brina kneel on one knee and kiss the hem of her garment? Did she ever wear her crown?

Royalty meant much more to Beryl than it did to Robin, for Beryl attached to it a personal interest. Would she not, as sure as anything, sometime play before crowned heads by royal command? Sometimes, lying wide-eyed in the dark, she pictured herself at such a moment, gorgeously gowned, and delightfully disdainful of the bejeweled, becrowned, stately kings and queens and little princelings, dukes and duchesses and earls and countesses, all hanging on the exquisite notes she drew from her strings. After she finished they would forget their crowns and things and fall upon her in a sort of humble adoration. Beryl shivered exquisitely, she could make the picture so very real! Now, when she dreamed, the queens and duchesses looked like the mysterious mistress of the house by the Rushing Water.

Robin thought of their Dowager Queen of Altruria as perhaps being a little lonely, sometimes. With everyone, now, watching the weather in anxious dread of a snowstorm, it occurred to her that such a storm would shut the little house near the Rushing Water off from the world.

"Beryl, let's go and see our Dowager! It may be the last time we can until Spring. I'd like to take her something, too. Something Christmasy. Christmas is only two weeks off and think how dreadful to spend Christmas all by yourself."

Beryl thought both the visit and the gift a fine idea and set her wits to working to contrive an offering suitable for one of the Dowager's station in life.

She suggested helping themselves to what the Manor had to offer, for, certainly, Robin, being a Forsyth, had such a "right."

"Flowers and fruit and maybe a book. It would never be missed and you could take one of these that hasn't anything written in the front. See, here's a collection of Dante's poems—it's as good as new. And who'd ever want it with all these other books here?"

Beryl's reasoning seemed logical and Robin put aside a tiny doubt she had as to her right to "help herself" to even a very small volume. Some day she could explain to her Aunt Mathilde that she had given it to a nice old lady who lived all alone.

The girls filled a huge basket with luscious fruit from Budge's storehouse, and gay flowers from the conservatory, and concealed the little book under the bright foliage. They decided, after much deliberation, to let Williams into their secret, and show him their offering, so that he would surely consent to drive them to Rushing Waters.

"We'll just about get it in before the snow comes," agreed Williams, scanning the sky with that anxiety to which Robin had grown very familiar. "A Queen, you say? Well, what do you think of that!" He laughed uproariously.

"We're not exactly sure, but we have our suspicions," corrected Beryl in a freezing tone.

"And please don't tell a soul because we really have no right to force ourselves on her if she wants to hide away," begged Robin.

Williams promised with a chuckle. "Funny kids," he said to himself, enjoying, nevertheless, the adventure. "I'll do the sleuth stuff in the corner store while you two are interviewing the Duchess—I beg pardon, the Queen."

The girls left Williams, as he suggested, at the little store, while they, tugging their basket between them, found and followed the path by the Rushing Water. It was as alluring as ever—berries still clung to the undergrowth, gleaming red against the dark of the fir trees; the dead leaves underfoot crackled softly as though protesting their intrusion; there was a whirring of wings and always the rush of the water.

"I'd forgotten how spooky it was," cried Beryl, drawing in her breath.

"I hope she won't be sorry we came."

This time Robin knocked. As before, Brina opened the door a little way. When she saw the two girls she scowled, but stepped backward, announcing their presence in crisp German.

The mistress of the house rose a little hastily from the table before which she was sitting. She was dressed, now, in a warm, trailing robe of soft velvet, a band of ermine circling her neck and crossing over her breast, where it was held in place by a brooch of flashing gems. At sight of her visitors her face softened from haughty surprise to a resigned amusement. Robin broke the silence.

"May we come in? We thought we'd like—that maybe you'd like—" Oh, it was dreadful to know what to say, when all the time you were thinking she really was a Queen!

"You have stumbled upon my little house again? Come in and sit down. Brina and I do not often have callers; you must pardon us if, perhaps, we are a little awkward in our hospitality. CÆsar, lie down He is glad to see you! I have been looking over a book of colored prints of old cathedrals. Would you like to pull your chairs up to the table and look at them with me?"

Beryl blinked knowingly at Robin as much as to say: "Isn't that just what an exiled Queen would be doing?" The prints were rare and exceedingly lovely and Robin noticed that they had come from a New York gallery. Their hostess told them of some of the quaint cathedral towns and the stories of the cathedrals themselves. Robin, who had an inherited appreciation of beauty, listened eagerly, putting in now and then a question or a statement of such intelligence that the "Dowager Queen" studied her with interest.

Beryl, thrilled by the ermine and the gleaming brooch, did not care a fig about the cathedrals but sat back in a rapture of speculation. There seemed something in the stately head with its crown of white hair, vaguely, tantalizingly familiar; she must have seen pictures of the Queen of Altruria somewhere. She watched each gesture and fitted it to her dream. This Queen who seemed really truly friendly now and almost human, might go back some day to Altruria, wherever that was, and of course, when she toured Europe, or maybe even when she was there studying, she could go and stay at the Palace just like a relative. It would be fun to visit in a palace and smile at all the fuss and crowns and things because you were an American and didn't believe in them.

"Oh, we forgot our basket!" cried Robin, suddenly darting to the door where Brina had, with a sniff, dropped their precious offering. "We brought these—for a Christmas greeting."

"They are lovely," cried the "Queen" with sincere delight, her eyes drinking in hungrily the beauty of the exotic blossoms—for Robin and Beryl had helped themselves to the best the Manor had. "And fruit—ah, Brina's heart will rejoice. What is this?" Her slender, shapely hands fussed over the wrappings of the book, while Robin and Beryl watched.

"Why—" The Queen turned the book over and over, her face bent so that its expression was hidden. The girls' delight gave way, now, to concern—the Queen held the book so long and with such curious intentness that they wondered, anxiously, if there were anything about Dante's verses displeasing to a Queen of Altruria. "You never can tell about those jealous kingdoms over there!" Beryl said afterwards.

After their hostess had "most worn the book out staring at it" she lifted her eyes and fixed a curious gaze upon her visitors.

"This is a rare little treasure," she said in a queer tone. "And may I not know how it came into your possession—and who you are?"

Robin's heart jumped into her throat. What had they done? It had looked like any book except that the leather of the binding seemed softer than most books and smelled very nice and there were beautiful colored illustrations inside—but the Queen said it was a rare book and was wondering where they had gotten it. Perhaps they had helped themselves to the Manor's most precious book! She gulped, looked frantically at Beryl, who, guessing her intention, gave violent signs of warning, to which she paid no heed.

"Why, I'm Robin Forsyth, and this is Beryl Lynch who lives with me at the Manor. We took the book from the library there because there are ever and ever so many, and we thought you might be lonely—when winter comes—and enjoy it."

"You are Robin Forsyth?" The old lady said the words slowly.

"My real name is Gordon Forsyth, but I've always been called Red-Robin. I'm living at Gray Manor now—over in Wassumsic. My father—he's not one of the rich Forsyths, you see—is an artist and he's travelling with Mr. Tony Earle, who writes, you know. I wish you could come to the Manor." Robin's heart was light now, having, by confession, cleared itself of its moment's dread, and she rattled on, quite oblivious to Beryl's scowl and the Queen's searching scrutiny. "It's lovely and old. Madame Forsyth, my great-aunt, isn't there, though—at least now. She's—she's travelling. We have a tutor and I have a guardian who lets me do about what I please. You see, first my aunt and my guardian thought I was a boy—the Forsyths have always been boys; and it was a dreadful shock, I guess, when my guardian found out I was a girl—and such a small girl—and lame, too. I think, though, he's forgotten that, now. But the housekeeper never will forgive me. And my great-aunt doesn't know, yet. I wish for her sake, I could change myself into a handsome young man like young Christopher Forsyth who died—but I can't, so I'm just going to be as good a Forsyth as I can and make up to them all for—being a girl."

"Whom do you mean—'them all?'" asked the Queen. She had dropped into a chair and turned her head toward the fire, in very much the same attitude she had held upon their first visit.

Robin, encouraged, squatted on the hearth rug, the big dog beside her, and clasped her hands over her knee.

"Oh, I don't mean just Madame Forsyth and my guardian, though I don't think he cares, now, or that cross old housekeeper; I mean—all the Mill people. You see the Mills have grown very fast and there are lots and lots of people working in them, but Mr. Norris, he's the superintendent, is very old-fashioned and he'll never improve things." Robin racked her brains to recall Dale's and Adam Kraus' exact words. "He's letting the people live in awful houses and they don't have any fun or—or anything. And Dale—he's Beryl's brother—says they'd work much better if they had everything nice. He says the Forsyths don't care, that they just think of the Mill people as parts of a machine to make money for them, and not as human beings. Why, there was a girl, Sarah Castle—" and Robin, her tongue loosed, told eloquently of Sarah Castle and of Susy and Granny and the old cottage "up the river," and then—because it made it seem so real to tell about it—of her House of Laughter.

"Of course," she finished, "if I were a boy I could do much more—or even if I were big. You see, there's been what Mr. Harkness calls a gloom over the Manor for a long time; and my great-aunt's been so sad over that that she couldn't think of anything else—and maybe I'll be doing something if I just show the Mill people that a Forsyth, even if she's only a girl, does care—a little bit. Don't you think so?"

At her appeal the Dowager Queen turned such a haughty face upon her and answered in such a cold voice: "I'm sure I do not know," that Robin turned crimson with embarrassment. Of course, a Queen could not even be remotely interested in the Manor and the Mills—especially if she had to worry over a whole kingdom herself. She had been silly to rattle on the way she had!

Brina, quite unknowingly, came to the rescue with a tray of cakes and a pot of cocoa.

Their hostess, her annoyance put aside, smiled graciously again, and poured the cocoa into little cups while the firelight flashed from the brooch on her dress. Brina went back and forth with heavy tread, sullenly watchful of her mistress' smallest need. The girls sat close to the table upon which still lay the book of cathedral prints and sipped their cocoa and ate their cakes. The wintry sun shone in through the curtained windows, giving the room, with its pale glow, a melancholy cheerfulness.

"Must you really go?" asked their hostess, politely, when, a half-hour later, Robin and Beryl exclaimed at the lateness of the hour.

"Why, we never meant to stay so long! It has been so nice." Robin wondered, if she held out her hand, would the Queen take it? She ventured it with such a shy, appealing movement that the old lady clasped it in hers, then dropped it abruptly, as though annoyed by her own impulsiveness.

"The afternoon has passed very pleasantly for me." The Queen's voice was measuredly polite. "I thank you for thinking of me—in my out-of-the-way corner, and bringing me such lovely gifts." Her eyes turned from the flowers which Brina had put in a squat pewter pitcher to the book which lay on the table. Then she turned to Robin and levelled a glance upon her which held a queer challenge.

"If you succeed—with your—what did you call it—House of Laughter, let me know, sometime. I shall be most interested in your experiment."

"Then she was listening," thought Robin, wondering at the bitter tone in the woman's voice. "Maybe she's so lonely and so unhappy she hates to think of laughter."

"Well, Red-Robin Forsyth, you certainly did spill everything you knew and a lot more besides," cried Beryl, when the two were alone. "As if a Queen cared a fig! I tried to head you off a couple of times." Beryl laughed scornfully. "It was funny!"

Robin still smarted from her recent embarrassment; she did not relish Beryl's laughing at her.

"We had to talk about something," she cried in defence.

"Well, if you'd given me a chance I'd have talked about things that are happening in Europe. Sort of led her on, you know, so's maybe she'd give herself away. That's what I wanted—to find out something about her instead of telling all about ourselves. Here she knows everything about you and you notice she didn't say one word about herself! The whole afternoon's wasted and we might as well not've gone at all. I wanted to get something on her so's maybe—some day—" Disgusted, Beryl broke off abruptly, quickening her step to show her companion her displeasure.

Robin limped in silence after her; she had talked too much, the Queen was probably laughing at her now—and Beryl was angry and disgusted.

Beryl forgot her moment's displeasure, however, when Williams imparted to them the "dope" he had on the "Queen-dame," gleaned from the old storekeeper.

"Old Si says the 'queer party' bought that house off up there last fall suddenly and moved up from somewhere or t'other with a truck load of stuff. The Big-gun, beg pardon, I mean the Queen, came herself, with some sort of a body-guard in an enclosed car, that went away after it'd landed them in the woods. Si's sore, I suppose, because they get 'their vittles sent up from New York'—though I don't know as I blame them from what I saw in his store. Says the 'queer party' walks through the village sometimes, but she's always with her body-guard and a big dog, and wears a heavy veil 'like them furrin' women'." Williams chuckled as he tried to give to his little account the touches Si had put into it.

Beryl caught Robin's hand in an ecstasy of delight. "There. That settles it as sure as anything. I'd like to write to somebody in Washington and tell what we know and maybe we'd get a reward. Royalty most always has a price on its head," Beryl finished grandly.

Robin wanted to protest at the thought of there being a price on that snow-white head, but not certain as to how far she had been restored in Beryl's favor, she refrained, and merely smiled in assent to Beryl's excitement.

"We've got to hurry back if we beat that cloud yonder," declared Williams, nodding toward a gathering bank of dark clouds in the western sky, and the mention of snow brought back to the girls the approaching party.

It did snow—long before Williams reached the Manor, so that the car was covered; throughout the dinner Harkness went again and again to the window to peer out, always turning back with the worried announcement: "It's still coming down." And at bedtime Robin, peeping out, saw a world blanketed white. Even Mr. Tubbs laid his neuralgic head upon his soft pillow with the regretful thought: "Now the Grangers cannot come. A pity. Yes."