t was
all foolery--there was no stake; but there was youth in it, cross
reader, and light hearts, and something else that Miss Clay writes
so charmingly about.

Gaines gave a great tug at the root of a laurel and pulled himself
to Miss Mary's feet. On his arm he carried the wreath of roses; and
while the villagers and summer boarders screamed and applauded below
he placed it on the queen's brow.

"You are a gallant knight," said Miss Mary.

"If I could be your true knight always," began Gaines, but Miss Mary
laughed him dumb, for Compton scrambled over the edge of the rock
one minute behind time.

What a twilight that was when they drove back to the hotel! The opal
of the valley turned slowly to purple, the dark woods framed the
lake as a mirror, the tonic air stirred the very soul in one. The
first pale stars came out over the mountain tops where yet a faint
glow of--

* * * * * * *

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Gaines," said Adkins.

The man who believed New York to be the finest summer resort in the
world opened his eyes and kicked over the mucilage bottle on his
desk.

"I--I believe I was asleep," he said.

"It's the heat," said Adkins. "It's something awful in the city
these"--

"Nonsense!" said the other. "The city beats the country ten to one
in summer. Fools go out tramping in muddy brooks and wear themselves
out trying to catch little fish as long as your finger. Stay in town
and keep comfortable--that's my idea."

"Some letters just came," said Adkins. "I thought you might like to
glance at them before you go."

Let us look over his shoulder and read just a few lines of one of
them:

MY DEAR, DEAR HUSBAND: Just received your letter ordering us to
stay another month. . . . Rita's cough is almost gone. . . . Johnny
has simply gone wild like a little Indian . . . Will be the
making of both children . . . work so hard, and I know that your
business can hardly afford to keep us here so long . . . best man
that ever . . . you always pretend that you like the city in
summer . . . trout fishing that you used to be so fond of . . .
and all to keep us well and happy . . . come to you if it were
not doing the babies so much good. . . . I stood last evening on
Chimney Rock in exactly the same spot where I was when you put
the wreath of roses on my head . . . through all the world . . .
when you said you would be my true knight