that?"

"Una!" he said. He had been very blind, but he was beginning to see.
He took a step nearer and took her hands. She threw up her head and
gazed, blushingly, steadfastly, into his eyes. From the folds of her
gown she drew forth the little packet of letters and kissed it.

"Your dear letters!" she said bravely. "They have given me the right
to speak out. I will speak out! I love you, dear! I will be content to
wait through long years until you can claim me. I--I have been so
happy since your letters came!"

He put his arms around her and drew her head close to his. Their lips
met.

The Story of Uncle Dick

I had two schools offered me that summer, one at Rocky Valley and one
at Bayside. At first I inclined to Rocky Valley; it possessed a
railway station and was nearer the centres of business and educational
activity. But eventually I chose Bayside, thinking that its country
quietude would be a good thing for a student who was making
school-teaching the stepping-stone to a college course.

I had reason to be glad of my choice, for in Bayside I met Uncle Dick.
Ever since it has seemed to me that not to have known Uncle Dick would
have been to miss a great sweetness and inspiration from my life. He
was one of those rare souls whose friendship is at once a pleasure
and a benediction, showering light from their own crystal clearness
into all the dark corners in the souls of others until, for the time
being at least, they reflected his own simplicity and purity. Uncle
Dick could no more help bringing delight into the lives of his
associates than could the sunshine or the west wind or any other of
the best boons of nature.

I had been in Bayside three weeks before I met him, although his farm
adjoined the one where I boarded and I passed at a little distance
from his house every day in my short cut across the fields to school.
I even passed his garden unsuspectingly for a week, never dreaming
that behind that rank of leafy, rustling poplars lay a veritable
"God's acre" of loveliness and fragrance. But one day as I went by, a
whiff of something sweeter than the odours of Araby brushed my face
and, following the wind that had blown it through the poplars, I went
up to the white paling and found there a trellis of honeysuckle, and
beyond it Uncle Dick's garden. Thereafter I daily passed close by the
fence that I might have the privilege of looking over it.

It would be hard to define the charm of that gard