th the fear of his
Latin lesson before his eyes. Maurice walked on with Rosalind.

"Come in for a while," she said.

The air was crisp, but the sunshine was bright, and the bench under the
bare branches of the white birch seemed more inviting than indoors. As
they took their seat there, Rosalind said gayly, "Father will be here this
week. We are not sure what day."

"And then you will have to go," Maurice added discontentedly.

"Yes, and I am partly sorry and partly glad. I am so glad I came to
Friendship, Maurice. Just think how many friends I have made!"

"How long ago it seems--that day when you spoke to me through the hedge.
You must have thought I was a dreadful muff," said Maurice.

Rosalind laughed. "I thought you were cross."

"I was in a horrid temper, but I didn't know how horrid until you told me
the story and I read in the book what your cousin wrote about bearing
hard things bravely. I suppose if it had not been for you, I should have
gone on being a beast."

"I was feeling pretty cross myself that day. I didn't know then what a
pleasant place Friendship is. I think I have found a great deal of joy by
the way, as Cousin Louis said," Rosalind continued meditatively.

"And I thought my summer was spoiled," Maurice added.

"It just shows you can never tell," Rosalind concluded wisely.

"Are you sure you won't forget us when you go away?" Maurice wanted to say
"me," instead of "us," but a sudden shyness prevented.

"Why, Maurice, I couldn't! Especially you; for you were my first friend."
The gray eyes looked into his frankly and happily.

After Maurice had gone, Rosalind still sat there in the wintry sunshine.
Things seemed very quiet just now, with Uncle Allan away for a week and
Aunt Genevieve not yet returned. She and her grandmother were keeping each
other company, and becoming better acquainted than ever before. Mrs.
Whittredge's glance often rested upon her granddaughter with a sort of
wistful affection, and once, when their eyes met, Rosalind, with a quick
impulse, had gone to her side and put her arms around her. Mrs. Whittredge
returned the caress, saying, "I shall be sorry to give you up, dearie."

On another occasion Rosalind had told how surprised she had been to find
that her grandmother did not wear caps and do knitting work. "But I like
you a great deal better as you are," she added.

Mrs. Whittredge smiled. "I fear I am in every way far from being an ideal
grandmother," she said.