o'er each fervid head,
With many a cup and many a smile
The festal moments we beguile."

"Some of my saints here were people of one idea, and though they were
not very successful from a worldly point of view while alive, they were
loved and canonized when dead," said Rose, who had been turning over a
pile of photographs on the table and just then found her favorite, St.
Francis, among them.

"This is more to my taste. Those worn-out, cadaverous fellows give me
the blues, but here's a gentlemanly saint who takes things easy and does
good as he goes along without howling over his own sins or making other
people miserable by telling them of theirs." And Charlie laid a handsome
St. Martin beside the brown-frocked monk.

Rose looked at both and understood why her cousin preferred the
soldierly figure with the sword to the ascetic with his crucifix. One
was riding bravely through the world in purple and fine linen, with
horse and hound and squires at his back; and the other was in a
lazar-house, praying over the dead and dying. The contrast was a strong
one, and the girl's eyes lingered longest on the knight, though she said
thoughtfully, "Yours is certainly the pleasantest and yet I never heard
of any good deed he did, except divide his cloak with a beggar, while
St. Francis gave himself to charity just when life was most tempting and
spent years working for God without reward. He's old and poor, and in a
dreadful place, but I won't give him up, and you may have your gay St.
Martin if you want him."

"No, thank you, saints are not in my line but I'd like the golden-haired
angel in the blue gown if you'll let me have her. She shall be my little
Madonna, and I'll pray to her like a good Catholic," answered Charlie,
turning to the delicate, deep-eyed figure with the lilies in its hand.

"With all my heart, and any others that you like. Choose some for your
mother and give them to her with my love."

So Charlie sat down beside Rose to turn and talk over the pictures for
a long and pleasant hour. But when they went away to lunch, if there
had been anyone to observe so small but significant a trifle, good St.
Francis lay face downward behind the sofa, while gallant St. Martin
stood erect upon the chimneypiece.

Chapter 3 MISS CAMPBELL

While the travelers unpack their trunks, we will pick up, as briefly as
possible, the dropped stitches in the little romance we are weaving.

Rose's life had been a very bu