omebody's
birthday to-day?"

"So it is! but I had not thought of it before," exclaimed the maiden,
with a lovely flush sweeping into her cheeks. "And," with a far-away look
in her eyes, "I am eighteen years old."

"Eighteen!" and Walter Dinsmore started slightly, while a vivid red
suddenly dyed his brow, and a look of pain settled about his mouth.

But he soon conquered his emotion, whatever it might have been, and
strove to say, lightly:

"Well, then, somebody must have a gift. What would you like, Mona?"

She laughed out sweetly again at the question.

"You know I have very strange notions about gifts, Uncle Walter," she
said. "I do not care much about having people buy me pretty or costly
things as most girls do; I like something that has been made or worn
or prized by the giver--something that thought and care have been
exercised upon. The little bouquet of blue-fringed gentians which you
walked five miles to gather for me last year was the most precious gift
I had; I have it now, Uncle Walter."

"You quaint child!" said the man, with a quiver of strong feeling in
his tone. "You would like something prized by the giver, would you?" he
added, musingly. "Well, you shall be gratified."

He turned again to his desk as he spoke, unlocked and pulled out a
drawer.

"Would you like this?" he asked, as he uncovered a box about eight inches
square.

"Why, it is a mirror! and what a queer one!" exclaimed the maiden, as she
bent forward to look, and found her lovely, earnest face reflected from a
square, slightly defaced mirror that was set in an ebony frame richly
inlaid with gold and pearl.

"Yes, dear, and it once belonged to Marie Antoinette. Doubtless it
reflected her face many times during the latter half of the last century,
as it now reflects yours, my Mona," said Mr. Dinsmore.

"To Marie Antoinette?" repeated Mona, breathlessly, "to the Queen of
France? and would you give it to me--_me_, Uncle Walter?"

"Yes, I have kept it for you many years, dear," the man answered, but
turning away from her eager, delighted eyes and glowing face, as if
something in them smote him with sudden pain.

"Oh! thank you, _thank_ you! It is a priceless gift. What can I say? How
can I show you how delighted I am?" Mona cried, eagerly.

"By simply accepting it and taking good care of it, and also by giving
me your promise that you will never part with it while you live," Mr.
Dinsmore gravely replied.

"Of _course_ I would