ible ground rents.

"Why, my son," his doting mother said, "think of it--two hundred thousand
dollars in her own right, and all yours for the asking."

He did think of it; and he vowed in his own mind to do
something--anything; run away, commit suicide, before he would join
himself for life to any girl he had never seen, especially old
Thornton's daughter, who seemed so willing to jump at him. Not he. In
vain they urged him to cultivate the fair damsel. Not till he had braced
his nerves with country air, he said. This tonic secured, he graciously
consented to be introduced, but would reserve the ratification of the
wedding treaty till later.

What's the use in having fathers and mothers, anyhow? They only plague
the life out of one. They don't ever think of letting a fellow alone
once in a while. They--

What other heinousness they would be guilty of would never be shaped
into thought, for at this moment down came a dainty little slipper, with
a dainty little rosette, from the tree above, plump on to his sketch,
and a violent start and a glance upward revealed a bewildering little
pink-stockinged foot, which was the daintiest of all.

The abrupt spring to his feet brought down the camp stool, cigar, easel
and all, but not the foot, for the rest of the apparition was caught and
hidden by the clustering young shoots of the apple tree.

A whistle--quite involuntary, if not polite--was shaping itself a brief
distance below his staring eyes, when, recovering himself and tiptoeing
to his full height, he peered into the branches and said, a little
irrelevantly:

"I beg pardon!"

Two milk-white hands parted the leaves, and a flushed pink-and-white
face appeared at the opening.

"It's only me," cooed a musical voice, and as if the sound had unlocked
the pent-up silence, two rows of pearls shone between two red lips, two
large blue eyes twinkled with fun, and as charming a peal of laughter as
was ever vouchsafed to mortal ears rippled merrily on the air.

"And who is me, may I ask?" rather saucily asked the routed artist.

"Why, Daisy--Daisy Merrifield; don't you know?"

"Why, no, I don't know; that is, I didn't know, but of course I know
now; and I'm delighted to know."

At all these "knows", the maiden laughed her merry laugh again.

"May I ask what you are doing up there?"

"Doing nothing--just what you are doing down here."

"Ah, but I was doing something very nice down here, only you have nearly
spoiled i