as and
gums are afire. The year's last burgeoning of butterflies riots, a
tangle of rainbow coloring, dancing in the mellow sunshine. And day by
day a fine still deepening haze descends veil-like over the landscape
and wraps it in a vague melancholy which most sweetly invades the
spirit. It is as if one waits for a poignant thing which must happen.

Upon such a perfect afternoon, I, reading my worn old breviary under
our great magnolia, heard of a sudden a voice of pure gold call me,
very softly, by my name; and looking up met eyes of almost
unbelievable blue, and the smile of a mouth splendidly young and red.

I suppose the tall girl standing before me was fashionably and
expensively clad; heaven knows _I_ don't know what she wore, but I do
know that whatever it was it became her wonderfully; and although it
seemed to me very simple, and just what such a girl ought to wear, my
mother says you could tell half a mile away that those clothes smacked
of super-tailoring at its costliest. Hat and gloves she held in her
slim white ringless hand. One thus saw her waving hair, framing her
warm pale face in living ebony.

"Padre!" said she. "Oh, dear, dear, Padre!" and down she dropped
lightly beside me, and cradled her knees in her arms, and looked up,
with an arch and tender friendliness. That childish action, that
upward glance, brought back the darling child I had so greatly loved.
This was no Queen-of-Sheba, as John Flint had thought. This was not
the regal young beauty whose photograph graced front pages. This was
my own girl come back. And I knew I hadn't lost Mary Virginia.

"I remembered this place, and I knew--I just knew in my heart--you'd
be sitting here, with your breviary in your hand. I knew just how
you'd be looking up, every now and then, smiling at things because
they're lovely and you love them. So I stole around by the back
gate--and there you were!" said she, her eyes searching me. "Padre,
Padre, how more than good to see you again! And I'm sure that's the
same cassock I left you wearing. You could wear it a couple of
lifetimes without getting a single spot on it--you were always such a
delightful old maid, Padre! Where and how is Madame? Who's in the
Guest Rooms? How is John Flint since he's come to be a Notable? Has
Miss Sally Ruth still got a Figure? How are the judge's cats, and the
major's goatee? How is everything and everybody?"

"Did you know you'd have to make room for me, Padre? Well, you will