tle stool close by her side, a book of fairy
stories resting on her elevated bare knees. The companionship of her
beloved Smiles had already brought the warm color of health back to her
cheeks and banished the listless look from her eyes. Her mother and Mr.
MacDonald, Senior, were reading. Rose, chin resting on her cupped palm,
was gazing seaward with a dreamy, far-away expression in her eyes, as
blue as the sea itself. Donald sat back of her, and scarcely turned his
gaze from the even contour of her cheek and neck and the shimmering
glory of her hair, as he pulled leisurely at his cigar.

Only little Don showed signs of activity; for, with the boundless energy
of four-and-a-half years, he was skidding and rolling industriously from
one end of the porch to the other on a kiddie-car--a relic of the year
before, and now much too small for him. With more or less dexterity he
was weaving his way in and out among the various obstacles, animate and
otherwise.

After looking for many silent minutes at the girl he loved, Donald said,
tritely, "A penny for your thoughts, Smiles."

"Sir, you value them too high. I was thinking about you," she laughed.

"A likely story! I know well enough that your mind was far away from the
present spot--the far-off expression on your face is indication enough
of that. Furthermore, I'll wager that I can guess pretty nearly where
they were."

It was a random shot, but he was disquieted to observe that it brought a
faint blush in her cheeks. The added color, soft and lovely in itself,
was darkly reflected on his heart.

Jumping up, Smiles cried, with a mock pout, "I shan't stay here to be
made the subject of a demonstration of clairvoyancy. My thoughts are my
own, and I mean to keep them so, sir."

As she ran into the house Donald's eyes followed her, moodily. And if he
had, indeed, possessed the power of divination which he had laid
pretence to, the expression in them, and the shadow on his spirit, would
have been justified.

Rose ran lightly upstairs, and, as she approached her room, drew from
within her waist a letter. There was something both mysterious and
childlike in the manner that she next opened one of the drawers of her
dressing table and, taking out a box which held almost all of her modest
treasures, started to place the letter with them.

Instead, however, she paused to lift out a neat little package
containing a score or more of other epistles, tied together with a white
r