unsullied in his heart. At last they were free to take all
that life had before withheld of sympathy and friendship and perfect
understanding. What wonder that an hour should slip away before they
realized the flight of time?

Mrs. Star received her nephew's announcement with suitable effusion,
and with an undercurrent of genuine feeling. After kissing Deena, she
made a confidence that had a spice of kindly malice.

"My dear child," she said, "I knew so well what was about to happen,
that I came all the way from New York in order to welcome you into the
family, and I think I showed great self-restraint not to tell you so
in the carriage when you put that very direct question as to what
brought me."

CONCERNING THE HEART'S DEEP PAGES

By SEWELL FORD

_Author of "Horses Nine," Etc._

When Dickie's mother put him in my charge for the summer she said:
"Keep him out of as much mischief as you can." This seemed
unnecessary, for, really, Dickie was a well-mannered, good-looking
young fellow, with broad shoulders, a clear skin and a clean heart. I
said as much.

"Oh, you old bachelors!" laughed Dickie's mother, and sailed away to
spend her second season of widowhood abroad.

Dickie and I were just taking a look at the country surrounding our
summer headquarters when we found Rosie. Balancing herself on a
gatepost and eating cherries was Rosie. It must be admitted that she
did both of these things with a certain grace, also that the picture
she made had its charm. For she was probably sixteen, with all that
the age implies.

Of course, one could not expect Dickie to be at all impressed.
Certainly I did not.

"Girls!" Here followed an ominous inbreathing, ending in an explosive
"Huh!" This was Dickie's expressed attitude toward the sex. For Dickie
was nineteen, which is the scornful age, you know. What are girls when
a fellow is going to be a soph. in the fall, with the prospect of
playing quarterback on the 'varsity eleven?

As we neared the girl on the gatepost Dickie gave her a careless
glance. She certainly deserved better. There was the sifting sunshine
in her hair and there were her white, rounded arms reaching up to pull
down a fruit-laden branch. Perhaps the girl on the gatepost felt the
slight of Dickie's unappreciative glance, perhaps not. At any rate,
she was unstirred.

"Want one?" she asked, saucily dangling a cherry at us.

Red as the cherry went Dickie's face, and he marched stiffly past