aunch Royalists at one time."

"And the Vermilyeas are good stock," said Aunt Gitty. "There's nothing
like being particular as to family. It tells in the long run."

"Well, Dolly, we think he will do," said Mrs. Beekman laughingly, as
Dolly, having said her good-bys, sauntered back to the circle. "He might
be richer, of course. There's a large family and they can't have much
apiece."

"Stephen Underhill's got the making of a good substantial man in him,"
grunted father Beekman. "If he'd been a poor shoat he wouldn't have hung
around here very long, would he, Katschina? We'd 'a put a flea in his
ear, wouldn't we."

Katschina arched her back. Dolly laughed and blushed. Stephen was her
own true-love anyway, but she was glad to have them all like him. With
the insistence of youth she felt she never could have loved any other
man.

Stephen clicked to Prince, who was rested and full of spirits. They
drove almost straight across the city, about at the end of our first
hundred numbered streets. But the road wound around to get out of a low
marshy place, a pond in the rainy season, and some rocks that seemed
tumbled up on end. They struck a bit of the old Boston Post Road, and
that caused the little girl to stop her prattle and think of the old
ladies they had never visited. She must "jog" her father's memory. That
was what her mother always said when she recalled half-forgotten things.

Stephen and Margaret had only spoken in answer to the little girl. He
had a young man's awkwardness concerning a subject so dear to his heart.
Margaret was awed by the mystery of love, captivated by Dolly's
friendliness, and puzzled to decide what her mother would think of it.
Stephen married! Any of them married for that matter. How strange it
would seem! And yet she had sometimes said, "When I am married."

The place was wild enough. You would hardly think so now when hollows
have been filled and hills levelled, and rocks blasted away. After they
turned a little stream wound in and out through the trees and bushes.
Amid a tangled mass the little girl espied some wild roses.

"Oh, Steve!" she cried, "may I get out and pick some?"

"I will." He handed the reins over to Margaret and sprang down, running
across a little bridge, and soon gathered a great handful.

"Oh, thank you," and her eyes shone. "What a funny little bridge."

"That's Kissing Bridge."

"Who do you have to kiss?" asked the little girl mirthfully.

"Well, a long wh