This was astonishing news to Rod, and his knees felt weak as he walked across the floor, and entered the room.  He paused when just inside, and stared in amazement at the vision before him.  There, lying upon a little cot, was the most wonderful person he had ever beheld.  Could it be possible that this was the same girl he had seen all drenched with water the day before?  Her hair was flowing over the white pillow like a shining stream of gold.  At this moment it was touched by the sun from the southeast window, which added much to the entrancing effect.  And then those eyes!  They seemed to read him through and through.  But they were laughing eyes now, sparkling with interest and amusement.

Rod stood very still, uncertain what to do.  So this wonderful girl was a princess, he said to himself.  He never dreamed of such a thing when he first saw her the day before.  He knew something about princes and princesses, for Mrs. Royal had often read to him stories about such people.  So this girl was one of them.  He had no doubt about it, for Parson Dan had called her a princess.  What should he do?  The books told how people got down on their knees to princesses, and kissed their hands.  Ah, that was the right thing for him to do now.

Stepping quickly forward, he knelt by the side of the bed, and seizing the girl’s right hand which was lying upon the counterpane, he pressed it to his lips.  A merry ringing laugh followed this action, which caused Rod to start and lift his head.  Was the princess laughing at him?  Perhaps he had made some foolish blunder, and she was making fun of him.

“Oh, you queer boy, what did you do that for?” and again the girl laughed.

“Didn’t I do it right?” Rod asked, as he sprang to his feet and stood straight before her.

“Do what right?” and the girl looked her surprise.

“Kneel, and kiss your hand.  They all do that.”

“All who?”

“The people in the stories.  They always kiss the hand of a princess when they meet her.”

“But I’m not a princess.”

“You’re not!  Grandad said you are, and I guess he knows.”

“Ho, ho, isn’t that funny?” and the girl’s hearty laugh again rang out.  “I’m no princess; I’m just plain Whyn Sinclair.  Your grandfather must have been joking.  It must be nice to have a grandfather like that.  His eyes are just full of fun.  Sit down, and tell me about him.”

“He isn’t my grandfather,” Rod replied, as he took his position upon the edge of a chair close to the bed.  He was feeling more at home now in the presence of this beautiful girl, since she was not a princess.

“He isn’t your grandfather!”

“No.  I haven’t any real grandfather, and I never saw my father or mother.”

“You didn’t!  Oh, you poor boy.”

“No.  I’m only a waif, that’s what they call me.  I was left at the door of the rectory one night a long time ago when I was a little baby, and Mr. and Mrs. Royal have taken care of me ever since.”