ut every opportunity was lost, and the last week of his
stay had already begun. The plans of his little mother had been confided
to me, and work had commenced.

There was to be an addition of four large rooms on the west side of our
house, and they were planned in accordance with Clara's ideas. She did
not call them her's, and started with the understanding that the
improvements were just a little present for her dear cousins. Best of
all, we were to have a bow window in one of the rooms, and this was
something so new, so different, it seemed a greater thing to me than the
architecture of the ancient cathedrals. A bow window, and the panes of
glass double, yes, treble the size of the old ones!

I heard father say to mother that this new part would make the old one
look very shabby; but Louis had told me his mother intended to do all
father would allow her to, and encourage him a little, etc. And we were
to have a new fence. You cannot imagine how fairy-like this all seemed
to me, and I could hardly believe what I saw. It seemed as if we were in
a wonderland country, and I had moved as in a dream up to the last hour
of my walk with Louis. Then I seemed to awake, as if shaken by a rough
hand, and since then I had been striving to appear what I was not, all
the time thinking that Louis misunderstood me, and here we were in the
last week of his stay and no word as yet in explanation. I had thought
it over until it became a truth to me that after all he had not meant
that he loved me other than as a sister, and it also seemed to me that
was just what I needed. What remained was to have it settled between us,
and to do that I must clothe my thoughts with words, else how could he
know how I felt. It seemed, too, that it was sheer boldness on my part
to dream for a moment that Louis spoke of life's crowning love. He meant
to be as a brother to me, and again I sighed, as I stood at the ironing
table, "Ah, Emily Minot, you are a born mistake, that's just what you
are!" and as I sighed I spoke these words, and, turning, found myself
face to face with Louis, who had just come from the village. He never
could wait for the stage to come, and had been over as usual for
letters.

"The only mistake is that you don't know yourself," he said.

And the tears that had welled up to my eyes fell so fast, and I was so
choked, that I turned from work, thinking to escape into mother's
bedroom and hide myself; but my eye caught sight of a lett