er he was leading.

"Pull up!" he bellowed hoarsely, crouching forward over his tiller
still lower. He dropped his hand to the emergency brake. The cut was
not six rods off. Once more the girls cried out, but this time in
shrill fear. Miss Herron remained calm as the Sphinx.

"Honk!" from Mayer, and the click of levers. His machine slid along in
a cloud of dust. "You win!"

It was ten minutes before the victors exchanged a single word. They
rattled over the long bridge, steered up the streets of Oldport to the
place where the Daughters were in session. Then Archie lay back with a
sigh.

"You weren't scared a bit!" he exclaimed, frankly doleful.

The old lady straightened her hat, lightly brushed off the top layer
of dust from the front of her dress, then gave the briefest of queer
little laughs. "It is one of the traits of my family," she said,
"never to be surprised at anything. And another," she added,
descending majestically from the automobile, "is to make the best of
circumstances which appear to be inevitable."

The boy blinked. "I don't understand," he stammered.

Miss Herron touched him on the arm. "I trust, then, that Lucy will
express herself to you more clearly. In case--if you should venture to
ask her a question."

And with that the old lady minced her way up the steps of the house to
disappear within doors.

"Good Lord!" exclaimed Archie, as the light began to break.

TWO SORROWS

Before Love came my eyes were dim with tears,
Because I had not known her gentle face;
Softly I said: "But when across the years
Her smile illumes the darkness of my place,
All grief from my poor heart she will efface."

Now Love is mine--she walks with me for aye
Down paths of primrose and blue violet;
But on my heart at every close of day
A grief more keen than my old grief is set,--
I weep for those who have not found Love yet!

CHARLES HANSON TOWNE.

LOVE AND MUSHROOMS

By FRANCES WILSON

Van Mater, out on the coast for the melancholy purpose of witnessing
what he conceived to be Corny Graham's crowning indiscretion--that is
to say, his marriage--found himself lingering for the purpose of
basking in California's smiles. The writing instinct, which in the
little old town on Manhattan would keep his hand traveling back and
forth across the paper for days at a stretch, here languished and
drowsed like some heavy-eyed, fai