lows up! Tom, try to make out, with Elinory's help, to bring a
fresh bucket of water from the spring for the night. Good-by, both of
you; I'm a-going to bring you a blessing!"

"Yourself, mother," called the Doctor after her.

"Honey-fuzzle," called Mother back from the gate. "Better keep it, son,
you'll need it some day."

"Was there ever, ever anybody just like her?" asked Miss Wingate, as
she sank back on the step beside the Doctor.

"I think not," he answered with a hint of tenderness in his voice; "but
then, really, Mother is one of a type. A type one has to get across a
continent from Harpeth Hills to appreciate. She's the result of the men
and women who blazed the wilderness trail into Tennessee, and she has
Huguenot puritanism contending with cavalier graces of spirit in her
nature."

"Well, she's perfectly darling and the little town is just an exquisite
setting for her. Do you know what this soft moonlight aspect of
Providence reminds me of, with those tall poplars down the Road and the
wide-roofed houses and barns? The little village in Lombardy
where--where I met--my fate."

"Met your fate?" asked the Doctor quickly after a moment. His face was
in the shadow and not a note in his voice betrayed his anxiety.

"Yes," answered the singer lady in a dreamy, reminiscent voice. The
moon shone full down into her very lovely face, fell across her white
throat and shimmered into the faint rose folds of her dainty gown. Her
close, dark braids showed black against the fragrant wistaria vines and
her eyes were deep and velvety in the soft light. "Yes, it was the
summer I was eighteen and I had gone over with my father for a month or
two of recuperation for him after a long extra session of Congress.
Monsieur LaTour was staying in the little village, also recuperating.
He heard me singing to father, and that night my fate was sealed. It
was a wonderful thing to come to me--and I was so young."

"Tell me about it," said the Doctor quietly, and his voice was
perfectly steady, though his heart pounded like mad and his cigar shook
in his fingers.

"My father died at the end of the summer, after only a few day's
illness, and he had grown to believe what LaTour said of my voice, and
to have great confidence in my future. I had no near relatives and in
his will he left me to Monsieur LaTour and Madame, his wife. She is an
American and her father had been in the Senate with father for years.
Monsieur is a very great te