ting good. Kind
sir, I have nothing more to add."

Mr. Cardew left the tent and sat down beside the rector and his wife.
Maggie's words were really unimportant. As one after the other the
merry group of actors went to have their fortunes told he paid no
attention whatever to them. Gipsy fortune-tellers always mixed a
little sorrow with their joyful tidings. It was a bewitching little
gipsy after all. He could not quite make out her undefined charm, but
he was interested in her; and after a time, when the fortune-telling
had come to an end and Maggie was about to change her dress for what
they called the evening revels, he crossed the field and stood near
her.

"So you, Miss Howland, have been telling my daughter Merry a good many
things with regard to your new school?"

She raised her queer, bright eyes, and looked him full in the face. "I
have told Merry a few things," she said; "but, most of all, I have
assured her that Aylmer House is the happiest place in the world."

"Happier than home? Should you say it was happier than home, Miss
Howland?"

"Happier than my home," said Maggie with a little sigh, very gentle
and almost imperceptible, in her voice. "Oh, I love it!" she continued
with enthusiasm; "for it helps--I mean, the life there helps--to make
one good."

Mr. Cardew said nothing more. After a time he bade his friends good-by
and returned to Meredith Manor. In course of time the little
pony-carriage was sent down to the rectory for the Cardew girls, who
went back greatly elated.

How delightful their evening had been, and what a marvelous girl
Maggie Howland was.'

"Why, she even manages to subdue and to rule those really tiresome
boys," said Cicely.

"Yes," remarked Merry, "she is like no one else."

"You have quite fallen in love with her, haven't you, Merry?"

"Well, perhaps I have a little bit," said Merry. She looked
thoughtful. She longed to say to Cicely, "How I wish beyond all things
on earth that I were going to the same school!" But a certain fidelity
to her father kept her silent.

She was startled, therefore, when Cicely herself, who was always
supposed to be much calmer than Merry, and less vehement in her
desires, clasped her sister's hand and said with emphasis, "I don't
know, after all, if it is good for us to see too much of Maggie
Howland."

"Why, Cissie? What do you mean?"

"I mean this," said Cicely: "she makes me--yes, I will say
it--discontented."

"And me too," said