ht
as well ask me if I would go to heaven if a big strong angel had come
down on purpose to carry me up! Oh, _why_ is everybody so good to me? I
can't understand it."

They had reached the gate, and were turning to walk back to the house.
Mr. Forbes laid his hand on the brown curly head with a fatherly touch.

"I'll tell you some day," he said, "when there is more time. It is all
because of that road you discovered, little one, that Road of the Loving
Heart. I don't wear a ring as Eugenia does, to remind me of it, but I've
been carrying the inspiration of it in my memory, ever since she wrote
me all that you had taught her about it."

They walked slowly back to the house together under the locusts that
arched their star-blossomed boughs above them. The band was playing
softly, and Betty, uplifted by the music, the lights, and the good
fortune in store for her, could hardly believe that her feet were
touching the earth. She seemed to be floating along in some sort of
dreamland. The old feeling swept over her that always came with the
music of the harp. It was as if she were away off from everything, her
head among the stars, and strange, beautiful thoughts that she had no
words for danced on ahead like shining will-o'-the-wisps.

Joyce was the first to share her good fortune, and while she was telling
it Eugenia came up with another joyful announcement.

"We are going to Tours," she cried, "and across the Loire to St.
Symphorien, where Joyce stayed all winter. And we'll see the Gate of the
Giant Scissors, and little Jules who lives there."

"I am so glad," said Joyce. "You must get Madame Greville to show you
everything; the kiosk in the old garden where we had our Thanksgiving
barbecue; the coach-house where we shut up the goats that day when they
chewed the cushions of the pony-cart to pieces; and the room where we
had the Christmas tree, and the laurel hedges in bloom--oh, I'm so glad
you're going to see them all."

"What's that?" asked the Little Colonel, coming up behind them; and then
Betty told her, too.

"Only think! Lloyd Sherman," she added, giving her a rapturous hug, "if
it hadn't been for you it never would have happened. It's all because
you had this delightful house party and invited me to come."

"Here comes Mrs. MacIntyre," interrupted Joyce, in a low tone. "Did you
ever see anything so fine and soft and fluffy as that beautiful white
hair of hers? It looks like a crimped snow-drift. I wouldn't