should like to meet Miss Kittie, and if you--"

"Is it possible?" cried the lady, throwing up her hands in amaze. "You,
who would only consent to come, on condition that you need not be
introduced, and play the agreeable to the young ladies; well, well! who
would have thought it, Paul?"

"The generality of young ladies are bores," was the reply. "I did not
expect to meet such a fresh faced, lovely young girl; for society never
allows them to remain so, if it gets hold of them."

"It will never be so with these girls," said Mrs. Raymond. "They have
too sensible and lovely a mother, and besides, they are a family much
devoted among themselves; there are five sisters, you will remember my
telling you about the other one, Ernestine, she sang like an angel; and
another one is an artist, the youngest a cripple, and--well they all
seem to live solely for each other, so require little from society. I
admire them all very much."

"So do I, from what I hear," said the gentleman, getting up from his
grassy seat, and glancing down at the bank. "Shall I assist you?"

"No, indeed; I'm not old yet, if I am grey," laughed Mrs. Raymond,
jumping nimbly up to prove her assertion. "I don't know what the ladies
will say, Paul, to see you finally succumbing to feminine attractions;
they have all eyed you in your seclusion with evident regret. You know
there is something singularly attractive about a widower, young or old;
though I suppose you have found that out," she added with a sister's
fond belief that her brother is irresistible in every way.

"Yes, I dislike conceit; but I have found out a few things in the last
four years," he answered, smiling; then uttering a little exclamation of
disappointment, as they reached the foot of the hill, and found that
Kittie had disappeared from the bank.

"Great oaks from little acorns grow." Sometimes they do in books,
sometimes they do out; and this afternoon in the sunshiny woods, two
little acorns had been planted. One of them was when Paul Murray had
looked with careless eyes into Kittie Dering's face, and found in its
bright girlish sweetness, what had been lacking for him, in any woman's
face since he lost his wife; namely--interest. He was a grave,
thoughtful faced man, with just a dash of grey on his temples, and a
listless air of world-weariness, that made him look beyond his years;
for he was only twenty-eight; and yet he had had a vigorous cuffing from
the reed-shaken hand of Fortun