ver and examined the cinch. He had almost
passed the place when little Paul came around the house, trailing a
subdued looking puppy at the end of a string, saw him, and ran to the
gate shrieking his name. Mead turned back, a warm flood of delight
surging into his breast.

"Hello, little Bye-Bye! Do you want to ride with me? Run back to the
house and ask your sister if you can go."

The child ran back to the porch and from within the house Mead heard
Marguerite give permission. "Won't she come out?" he thought,
anxiously.

"You must come and lift me up," said Paul, and Mead determined to buy
him the finest toy in the town.

"Climb on the fence and let Mr. Mead put you on."

"She won't come. She does not want to see me," thought Mead.

"No, I want you to come," persisted Paul, who was in a naughty mood.

"No, dearie, Mr. Mead can stoop over and help you on just as well as I
can."

"She is determined not to see me," thought Mead. "She never did so
before."

Paul began to cry. "I can't, Daisy. Truly, I can't get on if you don't
come. And then I can't have any ride."

Marguerite came out with a little, white, high-crowned sunbonnet
pulled over her head. She had been arranging her hair and had put on
the bonnet to conceal its disarray, when she found that the child
could not be persuaded to let her remain indoors. Mead thought her
face more adorable than ever as it looked out from its dainty frame.
Paul kicked his heels into the horse's shoulders, but a firm hand held
the bridle and the animal did not move. Marguerite turned a smiling
face upon Mead and met in his eyes the same look she always saw there.
She glanced down again, blushing, and felt the silence embarrassing,
but all the things she would ordinarily have said suddenly seemed
trivial and out of place, so she turned to the child with a gentle,
"Be a good boy, Paul." Mead looked at her in silence, smiling gravely.
Many things were whirling about in his mind to say, but he hesitated
before each one, doubting if that were the best. Paul kicked
vigorously and shouted, "Come on! Come on! Aren't you ready to go, Mr.
Mead?" Emerson's grave smile relaxed into a foolish grin, he lifted
his hat to Marguerite, and he and the boy cantered off.

Marguerite hurried back to her room and as she stood before her
mirror, trembling, she resumed her hair dressing to the accompaniment
of thoughts that ran contrariwise:

"I would think the man was dumb if I didn't know be