Virginia nodded violently.  “Yes, the lady who fell and got muddy.  And she’s perfectly lovely, and I’m going there again.  She asked me to.”

Why, oh, why should such luck fall to the lot of a long-legged, freckle-nosed little girl, and not to him, the Candy Man wondered.  He burned to ask innumerable questions, but compromised on one.  Did Virginia know whether or not she had come to stay?

“Why, I guess so.  She didn’t have her hat on, and she was cleaning up—­dusting, you know, and taking things out of a box.”

“What sort of things?”

“Books and sofa pillows and pictures.  I helped her, and by and by Uncle Bob came in.”

“And what did he say?” asked the Candy Man, just to keep her going.

“Why, he said, didn’t he tell me so?  And wasn’t it great to have her ladyship there?”

“And what did her ladyship say?”

“She said he was a dear, and I forget what else.  Oh, but listen!  I’ll bet you can’t guess what her name is.”

He couldn’t.  He had racked his brain for a name at once sweet enough and possessing sufficient dignity.  He had not found it for the good reason that no such name has been invented.

“It’s a long name,” said Virginia, “as long as mine.  I am named for my grandmother, Mary Virginia, but they don’t call me all of it.”  She paused to watch two white-plumed masons on their way to the commandery on the next block.

“Well?” said the Candy Man.

She laughed.  “Oh, I forgot.  Why, it is Margaret Elizabeth.  The doctor came in; she’s a lady doctor, you know, and said, ’Margaret Elizabeth, there’ll be muffins for tea.’  And she said, ‘All right.  Dr. Prue.’  And Dr. Prue said, ‘And cherry preserves, if you and Uncle Bob want them,’ and Margaret Elizabeth said, ‘Goody!’ And I must go now,” Virginia finished.  “There’s Betty looking for me.”

Virginia might go and welcome.  He had enough to occupy his thought for the present.  Margaret Elizabeth!  Such a name would never have suggested itself to him, yet it suited her.  Beneath her young gaiety and charm there was something the name fitted.  Margaret Elizabeth!  He loved it already.

Why had he not guessed that the Little Red Chimney belonged to her?  Had not the sight of it stirred his heart?  And why should that have been so, except for some subtle fairy godmother suggestion?  The picture of Margaret Elizabeth and Uncle Bob eating cherry preserves was a pleasant one.  It brought her nearer.  The Candy Man was inclined to like Uncle Bob, to think of him as a broad-minded person whose prejudices against Candy Men, granting he had them, might in time be overcome.

From being a bit low in his mind, the Candy Man’s mood became positively jovial.  When the sad grey man known to the children as the Miser, and invested with mysterious and awful powers, stopped to buy some hoarhound drops, he wished him a cheery good afternoon.