rhaps if they had known who sent them----

"To be sure I did."

"There was no card. I thought it was Don--and forgot to thank
him--luckily. Let me thank you now. They have been so sweet all the
evening."

"Too sweet, haven't they? You looked a bit pale to-night, I thought."

"It was my frock. Gray always makes people look pale."

"Does it? I've liked that frock so much--and I had an idea gray and
purple went together."

"They do--beautifully. And to-morrow, after the violets have been in
water, they'll be quite fresh--and so shall I. To tell the honest truth,
so many dinners--well, I'm not used to them. I'm just a little bit glad
to remember that spring is coming on soon, and I can get out in my old
garden and dig and rake, and watch the things come out."

"Yes--you're one of the outdoor creatures," said the Philosopher,
leaning back in his chair in the old way--he had been sitting up quite
straight. "I understand it--I like gardens myself. And your garden most
of all. Do you realize, between your absences and my long stay in
Germany, it's three summers since I've strolled about your garden?"

"So long? Yes, it must be."

"But I mean to be at home this summer. Do you?"

[Illustration: "And so we renewed the old vow"]

"I? Yes, I think so. After so long a winter outing--or inning--I
couldn't bear to miss the garden this year. And Lad will be home--his
first vacation. He is fond of the old garden, too."

"May I come?" asked the Philosopher rather abruptly.

"To stroll about the garden? Haven't you always been welcome?"

"I want a special welcome--from you--from my friend. When a man has only
one friend, that one's welcome means a good deal to him."

"Only one! You have so many."

"Have I? Yes, so I have, and pleasant friends they are, too. But
friendship--with only one. Come, Rhexia--you understand that as well as
I. Why pretend you don't? That's not like you."

He was looking at me very steadily. He leaned forward, stretching out
his hand. I laid mine in it. And so we renewed the old vow.

PART III

I

SIXTEEN MILES TO BOSWELL'S

"One passenger off the five-thirty, coming up the hill," announced Sue
Boswell, peering eagerly out of the Inn's office window. "That makes
nine for supper. I'll run and tell mother."

"Nine--poor child," murmured Tom Boswell, behind the desk. "That's
certainly a great showing for a summer hotel, on the fifteenth day of
July. If we don't do better in Aug