urpose one would scarcely have believed
possible, did they not have an intimate knowledge of the young girl's
disposition. Her laugh, infectious, full of the joy of living, the
vitality of youth and perfect health and happiness, reminded one of
the lines: "A laugh is just like music for making living sweet."

Seated beside her Uncle in the carriage, Mary was borne swiftly
through the town out into the country. It was one of those
preternaturally quiet, sultry days when the whole universe appears
lifeless and inert, free from loud noise, or sound of any description,
days which we occasionally have in early Spring or Summer, when the
stillness is oppressive.

Frequently at such times there is borne to the nostrils the faint,
stifling scent of burning brush, indicating that land is being cleared
by the forehanded, thrifty farmer for early planting. Often at such
times, before a shower, may be distinctly heard the faintest twitter
and "peep, peep" of young sparrows, the harsh "caw, caw" of the crow,
and the song of the bobolink, poised on the swaying branch of a tall
tree, the happiest bird of Spring; the dozy, drowsy hum of bees; the
answering call of lusty young chanticleers, and the satisfied cackle
of laying hens and motherly old biddies, surrounded by broods of
downy, greedy little newly-hatched chicks. The shrill whistle of a
distant locomotive startles one with its clear, resonant intonation,
which on a less quiet day would pass unnoticed. Mary, with the zest of
youth, enjoyed to the full the change from the past months of
confinement in a city school, and missed nothing of the beauty of the
country and the smell of the good brown earth, as her Uncle drove
swiftly homeward.

"Uncle John," said Mary, "'tis easy to believe God made the country."

"Yes," rejoined her Uncle, "the country is good enough for me."

"With the exception of the one day in the month, when you attend the
'Shriners' meeting' in the city," mischievously supplemented Mary, who
knew her Uncle's liking for the Masonic Lodge of which he was a
member, "and," she continued, "I brought you a picture for your
birthday, which we shall celebrate tomorrow. The picture will please
you, I know. It is entitled, 'I Love to Love a Mason, 'Cause a Mason
Never Tells.'"

They passed cultivated farms. Inside many of the rail fences,
inclosing fields of grain or clover, were planted numberless sour
cherry trees, snowy with bloom, the ground underneath white wit