ng her intently, but as if
thought were concentrated elsewhere. "I wonder if it was you Cousin
Charlotte meant? I was down there two winters ago for a month. They
live in Florida, at a place called Aden."

"Yes," said Alexina, "Aden."

"And she asked me about some young girl who, she said, lived across
from the cottage. Of course I didn't know."

"I wasn't there then," said Alexina; "I was at school. They were good
to me; are they well--and happy?" The eagerness was good to see, so
dejected had the girl seemed of late.

"Well, yes, or were when mother last heard. Happy, too, I reckon, as
it's counted with us poor families used to better things."

"Tell me about them, if you don't mind. They were the best friends I
ever had."

"Well," he said, looking rather helpless in the undertaking, "there
isn't much to tell. They're getting along. The Captain was book-keeper
for a steamboat line down there, went home every week, but, somehow, a
year ago, they dropped him; he's getting old, the Captain is."

"Yes, he must be. And Mrs. Leroy?"

"Cousin Charlotte? Well, she's Cousin Charlotte. Some ways she's a
real child about things and mighty helpless when it comes to managing,
but she never thinks about repining, and it's funny how she'll do
whatever King tells her."

"And he?"

"King? Oh, he's all right. Queer fellow though, some ways,
imperturbable as a young owl. Best poker player down there, and that's
saying something. It's motley, Aden is, like all those small towns
since the railroad went through 'em."

The young man happening to glance at Miss Alexina, saw that he had
said something wrong. He was the only child of his mother and so knew
how ladies feel on certain subjects. Yet, on the other hand, Miss
Alexina adored Major Rathbone, and the Major's poker record, while
possibly of a more local character, was scarcely less celebrated than
his guerrilla past. Still, ladies are expected to be inconsistent.

"I shouldn't have told that, I reckon," he remarked; "you all don't
see these things as we do. He's a fine fellow, King is. He's a great
shot, too," cheerfully; "I went on a week's hunt down in the glades
with him. King's all right."

Maybe he was, but it sounded as though he was trifling. "Hasn't he a
business?" she asked with condemning brevity.

"I don't know about calling it a business," said William Leroy's
cousin; "I know he's the busiest. It's a big old place, you see, the
grove they own, and he's re