commenting upon her good
looks. For the rest of that day he was a gloomy spirit, a dark shadow in
the office of Z. Snow and Co.

Before the end of another fortnight the season at South Harniss was
definitely over. The hotel closed on the Saturday following the dance,
and by October first the last of the cottages was locked and shuttered.
The Kelseys went on the twentieth and the Fosdicks went with them.
Albert met Madeline and Jane at the post-office in the evening of the
nineteenth and there more farewells were said.

"Don't forget us down here in the sand, will you?" he suggested to Miss
Fosdick. It was Jane Kelsey who answered.

"Oh, she won't forget," returned that young lady. "Why she has your
photograph to remember you by."

Madeline colored becomingly and was, as Jane described it, "awfully
fussed."

"Nonsense!" she exclaimed, with much indignation, "I haven't any such
thing. You know I haven't, Jane."

"Yes, you have, my dear. You have a photograph of him standing in front
of the drug store and looking dreamily in at--at the strawberry sundaes.
It is a most romantic pose, really."

Albert laughed. He remembered the photograph. It was one of a series of
snapshots taken with Miss Kelsey's camera one Saturday afternoon when
a party of young people had met in front of the sundae dispensary. Jane
had insisted on "snapping" everyone.

"That reminds me that I have never seen the rest of those photographs,"
he said.

"Haven't you?" exclaimed Jane. "Well, you ought to see them. I have
Madeline's with me. It is a dream, if I do say it as I took it."

She produced the snapshot, which showed her friend standing beside the
silver-leaf tree before the druggist's window and smiling at the camera.
It was a good likeness and, consequently, a very pretty picture.

"Isn't it a dream, just as I said?" demanded the artist. "Honest now,
isn't it?"

Albert of course declared it to be beyond praise.

"May I have this one?" he asked, on the impulse of the moment.

"Don't ask me, stupid," commanded Jane, mischievously. "It isn't my
funeral--or my portrait, either."

"May I?" he repeated, turning to Madeline. She hesitated.

"Why--why yes, you may, if you care for it," she said. "That particular
one is Jane's, anyway, and if she chooses to give it away I don't see
how I can prevent her. But why you should want the old thing I can't
conceive. I look as stiff and wooden as a sign-post."

Jane held up a protesting fing