ly: "that's an odd thing for a woman so
old as I am. My birthday is next month. I shall be forty-six."

"Youth is not a matter of years," replied Father Antoine. "I have known
very young women much older than you."

Hetty smiled sadly, and walked on. Father Antoine's words had given her
a pang. They were almost the same words which Dr. Eben had said to her
again and again, when she had reasoned with him against his love for
her, a woman so much older than himself. "That is all very well to say,"
thought Hetty in her matter-of-fact way, "and no doubt there are great
differences in people: but old age is old age, soften it how you will;
and youth is youth; and youth is beautiful, and old age is ugly. Father
Antoine knows it just as well as any man. Don't I see, good as he is,
every day of my life, with what a different look he blesses the fair
young maidens from that with which he blesses the wrinkled old women.
There is no use minding it. It can't be helped. But things might as well
be called by their right names."

Marie sat down on a garden bench, and reflected. So the good Aunt
Hibba's birthday was next month, and there would be nobody to keep it
for her in this strange country. "How can we find out?" thought Marie,
"and give her a pleasure."

In summer weather, Father Antoine took his simple dinners on the porch.
It was cool there, and the vines and flowers gave to the little nook a
certain air of elegance which Father Antoine enjoyed without recognizing
why. On this evening Marie lingered after she had removed the table. She
fidgeted about, picking up a leaf here and there, and looking at her
master, till he perceived that she had something on her mind.

"What is it, Marie?" he asked.

"Oh, M'sieur Antoine!" she replied, "it is about the good Aunt Hibba's
birthday. Could you not ask her when is the day? and it should be a
_fete_ day, if we only knew it; there is not one that would not be glad
to help make it beautiful."

"Eh, my Marie, what is it then that you plan? The people in the country
from which she comes have no _fetes_. It might be that she would think
it a folly," answered Father Antoine, by no means sure that Hetty would
like such a testimonial.

"All the more, then, she would like it," said Marie. "I have watched
her. It is delight to her when they dance about the spring, and she has
the great love for flowers."

So Father Antoine, by a little circumlocution, discovered when the
birthday would