"I wish I could have been in your 'other life'," Lans whispered.
"Well, if it will comfort you any," Treadwell broke in with an uncomfortable sense of being an off-mountaineer, "Sandy has--another life."
"Really?" Cynthia flushed and curiosity swayed her. She had never had so good an opportunity to know the man Sandy; she might never have again. "Really? and folks, right magic folks to--to play with?"
Treadwell thought of the Markhams and grinned; then he thought of Sandy's secret relations with the girl his aunt had told him of and he grew imaginative. "Yes. Now there is a man in Sandy's other world, a grim, rather stern man, but he has a magic wand that he lets Sandy wave now and then--it's great fun!"
"Exactly. That's his pet name. And there is a nice old fairy godmother who brews wonderful mixtures for Sandy and darns his socks and makes believe, when no one is listening, that she is his mother."
Treadwell stopped and gave a big, hearty laugh. Matilda Markham as a "honey" was about the most comical thing he had ever dreamed of.
"And is there"--the drawling sweetness of Cynthia's voice was moving Treadwell dangerously--"is there something young and pretty and mighty bright, too?"
"Yes, a girl--just girl enough, you know, to keep him--like--well--like other fellows."
"Oh!" Cynthia smiled, but her eyes grew as gray as the day; the blue faded from them. "I hope she is a mighty nice, upperty girl."
"I'm only playing, you know," Lans broke in. "I am imagining a life for Sandy something like your old secret life. It's all fun."
"You mean--Sandy has an--an imagination?"
But the "girl" part of the make-believe remained in Cynthia's memory. Sandy had had his pretty story down there, away from Lost Hollow! Now he had come back; had left it all behind him! She saw it quite clearly. Perhaps when he was on that recent visit he had looked upon all the dear playthings as she used to look at her "Pilgrim's Progress," the portraits on the walls of the Interpreter's House, and her letters to her soul. Perhaps Sandy had played with the wand of the grim old Company; had tasted the brews of the dear Fairy Godmother and he had--bidden good-bye to the pretty girl-thing! It was very plain now; Sandy had accepted his life of duty in the hills, he had shut the door between him and his playroom.