ct. She had really enjoyed
his talk when they had met here and there abroad; but she was in no mood
for him now; and she wondered what he had lost by the transfer to
America. He ran on airily in French, speaking of the rush of great and
small social affairs that marked the end of the season.

"Poor Franzel is indeed _triste_. He is taking the death of Johann
Wilhelm quite hard. But here in America the death of an emperor seems
less important. A king or a peasant, what does it matter!"

"Better ask the robin in yonder budding chestnut tree, Monsieur. This is
not an hour for hard questions!"

"Ah, you are very cruel! You drive me back to poor, melancholy Franzel,
who is indeed a funeral in himself."

"That is very sad, Monsieur,"--and she smiled at him with mischief in her
eyes. "My heart goes out to any one who is left to mourn--alone."

He gathered his reins and drew up his horse, lifting his hat with a
perfect gesture.

"There are sadder blows than losing one's sovereign, Mademoiselle!" and
he shook his bared head mournfully and rode back to find his friend.

She sought now her favorite bridle-paths and her heart was light with the
sweetness and peace of the spring as she heard the rush and splash of the
creek, saw the flash of wings and felt the mystery of awakened life
throbbing about her. The heart of a girl in spring is the home of dreams,
and Shirley's heart overflowed with them, until her pulse thrilled and
sang in quickening cadences. The wistfulness of April, the dream of
unfathomable things, shone in her brown eyes; and a girl with dreams in
her eyes is the divinest work of the gods. Into this twentieth century,
into the iron heart of cities, she still comes, and the clear, high stars
of April nights and the pensive moon of September are glad because of
her.

The groom marveled at the sudden changes of gait, the gallops that fell
abruptly to a walk with the alterations of mood in the girl's heart, the
pauses that marked a moment of meditation as she watched some green
curving bank, or a plunge of the mad little creek that sent a glory of
spray whitely into the sunlight. It grew late and the shadows of waning
afternoon crept through the park. The crowd had hurried home to escape
the chill of the spring dusk, but she lingered on, reluctant to leave,
and presently left her horse with the groom that she might walk alone
beside the creek in a place that was beautifully wild. About her lay a
narrow strip of