which her peculiar charm was
evidence.

A little later his host arose, and said with native courtesy, "I reckon
yo're tired enough ter want ter go ter bed, stranger, an' I'll show ye
ter yo'r loft room."

The pair bade each other good-night, and Donald climbed the homemade
ladder to his resting place beneath the roof, on which the rain was
still keeping up a continuous patter. He felt that he was weary enough
so that no rocking was needed to induce slumber, but it was nevertheless
some time before he really fell asleep. And when he did it was with the
mental picture of the child's smile, like a quickly vanishing sun-rift
in the mist, before his closed eyes.

* * * * *

Donald was awakened the next morning by the sound of laughing voices,
and Mike's hilarious barking, outside his little window. Looking through
it he beheld a delightful picture. On the dew-sprinkled grass of the
little clearing about the cottage were merrily romping the dog, Rose and
a small child. Beyond, lay the mountain's wooded descent, rich in
variegated greens and seemingly rising like an island shore from a sea
of pearly vapor, tinted with delicate mauve, rose and amber by the sun,
which had itself not yet risen above the valley mist. Scrambling into
his outer garments, the man ran down to join them in their game.

"Look out, er yo'll git yo're feet wetted, Mr. doctor man," cried Rose
gayly, as she drew her own bare foot through the grass and held it
forward shining with dew.

"Do you think a little thing like wet feet would stop me from getting
into the game?" he answered. "And you called me a sturdy oak! Who is the
little buttercup?" he added, looking at the child whose shock of bright
golden curls made his nickname an apt one.

"She's Lou, Judd's leetle sister, an' her house air jest over thar
beyond ourn. Yo' guessed rightly, she _air_ one er my flower children,
ain't ye, honey-sweet?" Rose dropped to her knees in the wet grass, and
gathered the bashful child against her tenderly. The baby buried her
face in her friend's neck without speaking, and in a moment Rose stood
up, saying, "We-all thinks a heap er Lou, 'specially Judd."

"I've got a little niece at home just about Lou's age. Her name is
Muriel. Would you like to hear about her and her playthings? She's got a
tiny pony and cart," he said, and soon the child was sitting in his lap,
listening wide-eyed to the description of dolls who opened and shu