urse, he assured himself repeatedly, there was
a way out of the difficulty; but he was not able to find it just yet. He
had observed that Mrs. Gusty's opinions became fixed convictions under
the slightest opposition, whereas Guinevere's firmest decision trembled
at a breath of disapproval. He sighed deeply as he meditated upon the
vagaries of the feminine mind.

Overhead the bare trees lifted a network of twigs against a dull sky, a
cold wind stirred the sedge grass, and fluttered the dry leaves that had
lain all winter in the fence corners. Everything looked old and worn and
gray, even Mr. Opp, as he leaned against a gaunt, white sycamore, his
head bent, and his brows drawn, wrestling with his problem.

Suddenly he lifted his head and listened, then he smiled. In the tree
above him a soft but animated conversation was in progress. A few daring
birds had braved the cold and the wind, and had ventured back to their
old trysting-place to wait for the coming of the spring. No hint of
green had tinged the earth, but a few, tiny, pink maple-buds had given
the secret away, and the birds were cuddled snugly together, planning,
in an ecstasy of subdued enthusiasm, for the joyous days to come.

Mr. Opp listened and understood. They were all whispering about one
thing, and he wanted to whisper about it, too. It was the simple theme
of love without variations--love, minus problems, minus complications,
minus consequences. He took out his little packet of letters and read
them through; then, unmindful of the chill, he stretched himself under
the tree and listened to the birds until the twilight silenced them.

When he reached home at last, Miss Kippy met him at the door with a
happy cry of welcome.

"D.," she said, with her arm through his, and her cheek rubbing his
sleeve, "I've been good. I've let my hair stay up all day, and Aunt Tish
is making me a long dress like a lady." She looked at him shyly and
smiled, then she pulled his head down and whispered, "If I'm very good,
when I grow up, can I marry Mr. Hinton?"

Miss Kippy, too, had been listening to the bird-song.

XIII

It was May when Willard Hinton arrived at the Cove and took up his abode
at Mrs. Gusty's. For the first week he kept to his bed, but at the end
of that time he was able to crawl down to the porch and, under the
protection of dark glasses and a heavy shade, sit for hours at a time in
the sunshine. The loss of his accustomed environment, the ennu