Did he
live in the old house when he was a kid?"
"Yes."
"An'--an' when the princess lady was little like me, an' lived in the
old house, did yer play with her?" asked Maggie.
The Interpreter laughed softly. "Yes, indeed, often. You see I worked
in the Mill, too, in those days, Maggie, with her father and Peter
Martin and--"
"That was when yer had yer real, sure-nuff legs, wasn't it?" the boy
interrupted.
"Yes, Bobby. And every Sunday, almost, I used to be at the old house
where the little princess lady lived, or at the Martin home next door,
and Helen and John and Charlie and Mary and I would always have such
good times together."
Little Maggie's face shone with appreciative interest. "An' did yer
tell them fairy stories sometimes?"
"Sometimes."
The little girl sighed and tried to get still closer to the man in the
wheel chair. "I like fairies, don't yer?"
"Indeed, I do," he answered heartily.
"Skinny and Chuck, they said yer tol' _them_ stories, too."
The Interpreter laughed quietly. "I expect perhaps I did."
"I don't suppose yer know any fairy stories right now, do yer?"
"Let me see," said the Interpreter, seeming to think very hard. "Why,
yes, I believe I do know one. It starts out like this: Once upon a time
there was a most beautiful princess, just like your princess lady, who
lived in a most wonderful palace.
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