es--fruits, flowers, even
friendship and love. Three weeks later, on a hot, bright morning of
April, North and Katherine Newbold were walking down a road of Bermuda
to the sea, and between them was what had ripened in the twenty-one days
from a germ to a full-grown bud, ready to open at the lightest touch
into flower. As they walked down such a road of a dream, the man talked
to the girl as he had never talked to any one before. He spoke of his
work and its hopes and disappointments, of the pathos, the tragedy, the
comedy often of a way of life which leads by a deeper cut through men's
hearts than any other, and he told her also, modestly indeed, and
because he loved to tell her what meant much to him, of the joy of
knowing himself successful in his parish. He went into details,
absorbingly interesting to him, and this new luxury of speaking freely
carried him away.

"I hope I'm not boring you." His frank gaze turned on her anxiously. "I
don't know what right I have to assume that the increase in the
Sunday-school, or even the new brass pulpit, is a fascinating subject to
you. I never did this before," he said, and there was something in his
voice which hindered the girl from answering his glance. But there was
no air of being bored about her, and he went on. "However, life isn't
all good luck. I had a serious blow just before I came down here--a
queer thing happened. I told you just now that all the large gifts to
St. John's had come from one man--a former parishioner. The man was
James Litterny, of the great firm of--Why, what's the matter--what is
it?" For Katherine had stopped short, in her fast, swinging walk, and
without a sound had swayed and caught at the wall as if to keep herself
from falling. Before he could reach her she had straightened herself and
was smiling.

"I felt ill for a second--it's nothing,--let's go along."

North made eager suggestions for her comfort, but the girl was firm in
her assertion, that she was now quite well, so that, having no sisters
and being ignorant that a healthy young woman does not, any more than a
healthy young man, go white and stagger without reason, he yielded, and
they walked briskly on.

"You were telling me something that happened to you--something connected
with Mr.--with the rich parishioner." Her tone was steady and casual,
but looking at her, he saw that she was still pale.

"Do you really want to hear my yarns? You're sure it isn't that which
made you feel f