surprised when HE did. But I
was just sure you could--with all this to look at."

The lady frowned. Half-unconsciously she glanced about her as if
contemplating flight. Then she turned back to the boy.

"But how came you here? Who are you?" she cried.

"I'm David. I walked here through the little path back there. I didn't
know where it went to, but I'm so glad now I found out!"

"Oh, are you!" murmured the lady, with slightly uplifted brows.

She was about to tell him very coldly that now that he had found his
way there he might occupy himself in finding it home again, when the
boy interposed rapturously, his eyes sweeping the scene before him:--

"Yes. I didn't suppose, anywhere, down here, there was a place one half
so beautiful!"

An odd feeling of uncanniness sent a swift exclamation to the lady's
lips.

"'Down here'! What do you mean by that? You speak as if you came
from--above," she almost laughed.

"I did," returned David simply. "But even up there I never found
anything quite like this,"--with a sweep of his hands,--"nor like you,
O Lady of the Roses," he finished with an admiration that was as open
as it was ardent.

This time the lady laughed outright. She even blushed a little.

"Very prettily put, Sir Flatterer" she retorted; "but when you are
older, young man, you won't make your compliments quite so broad. I am
no Lady of the Roses. I am Miss Holbrook; and--and I am not in the
habit of receiving gentlemen callers who are uninvited
and--unannounced," she concluded, a little sharply.

Pointless the shaft fell at David's feet. He had turned again to the
beauties about him, and at that moment he spied the sundial--something
he had never seen before.

"What is it?" he cried eagerly, hurrying forward. "It isn't exactly
pretty, and yet it looks as if 't were meant for--something."

"It is. It is a sundial. It marks the time by the sun."

Even as she spoke, Miss Holbrook wondered why she answered the question
at all; why she did not send this small piece of nonchalant
impertinence about his business, as he so richly deserved. The next
instant she found herself staring at the boy in amazement. With
unmistakable ease, and with the trained accent of the scholar, he was
reading aloud the Latin inscription on the dial: "'Horas non numero
nisi serenas,' 'I count--no--hours but--unclouded ones,'" he translated
then, slowly, though with confidence. "That's pretty; but what does it
mean--about 'countin