n a college now and then to
keep us quiet, but you owe it to the country to show the English that a
democrat can have as fine a house as anybody."

"I call that real patriotism. When I get rich, Miss Eschelle, I'll bear
it in mind."

"Oh, you never will be rich," said Carmen, sweetly, bound to pursue her
whim. "You might come to me for a start to begin the house. I was very
lucky last spring in A. and B. bonds."

"How was that? Are you interested in A. and B.?" asked Uncle Jerry,
turning around with a lively interest in this gentle little woman.

"Oh, no; we sold out. We sold when we heard what an interest there was
in the road. Mamma said it would never do for two capitalists to have
their eggs in the same basket."

"What do you mean, Carmen?" asked Margaret, startled. "Why, that is the
road Mr. Henderson is in."

"Yes, I know, dear. There were too many in it."

"Isn't it safe?" said Margaret, turning to Hollowell.

"A great deal more solid than it was," he replied. "It is part of a
through line. I suppose Miss Eschelle found a better investment."

"One nearer home," she admitted, in the most matter-of-fact way.

"Henderson must have given the girl points," thought Hollowell. He began
to feel at home with her. If he had said the truth, it would have been
that she was more his kind than Mrs. Henderson, but that he respected
the latter more.

"I think we might go in partnership, Miss Eschelle, to mutual
advantage--but not in building. Your ideas are too large for me there."

"I should be a very unreliable partner, Mr. Hollowell; but I could
enlarge your ideas, if I had time."

Hollowell laughed, and said he hadn't a doubt of that. Margaret inquired
for Mrs. Hollowell and the children, and she and Carmen appointed an
hour for calling at the Ocean House. The talk went to other topics, and
after a half-hour ended in mutual good-feeling.

"What a delightful old party!" said Carmen, after he had gone. "I've a
mind to adopt him."

In a week Hollowell and Carmen were the best of friends. She called him
"Uncle Jerry," and buzzed about him, to his great delight. "The beauty
of it is," he said, "you never can tell where she will light."

Everybody knows what Newport is in August, and we need not dwell on it.
To Margaret, with its languidly moving pleasures, its well-bred scenery,
the luxury that lulled the senses into oblivion of the vulgar struggle
and anxiety which ordinarily attend life, it was little less th