ticular place or surroundings that constitutes home for us, so much
as the presence of those who are dear to us. Imagine how it would have
seemed to me, three months ago, to have called this place 'home,' but
it seems wonderfully home-like to me to-day."

"As to what constitutes a home, I am scarcely qualified to judge,"
said Miss Gladden, "for I hardly know what a home is; but my idea is,
that any spot where my best loved ones were, would be home to me."

"And with such sentiments as those," Houston responded, "you would
make any spot on earth home to those whom you loved."

"I should hope to," she replied, and added archly, "and if they loved
me, I think I would succeed."

"I fear," said Houston, smiling, "that we are very old fashioned and
far behind the spirit of modern times, which considers love of small
account in the elements that constitute a home."

"I consider it an indispensable element, nevertheless," she replied,
earnestly, "for I have seen too much of so-called homes where it did
not exist, and they were not even successful imitations of the genuine
article; their hollowness and wretchedness were only too apparent."
She paused a moment, then continued:

"To me, the home seems like one of the old-time temples; a place to be
kept sacred to peace and purity and love; from which the sin and
strife of the outside world should be faithfully excluded; whose
inmates, on entering, should leave behind all traces of the evil and
discord of the outer world, as the Oriental leaves his dust-laden
sandals at the door of his sanctuary."

"I have never known any other than such a home as that," said Houston,
slowly, "and it is the only true home."

"Pardon me," said Miss Gladden, "but are your parents living? I have
often wondered."

"No," he replied, "my parents died when I was a mere child, but the
faint recollection of my early home, and the memory of my uncle's
home, which has been mine also, correspond very closely with the
picture you have just drawn."

"Then with you it is a reality," she answered, "but with me, only an
ideal."

"Miss Gladden," said Houston very earnestly, but with great
tenderness, "will you not let me help you to make a reality of your
ideal?" Then, as she did not immediately reply, he continued, "The
love that we believe in as the foundation of a true home, is not
lacking on my part. I love you, Leslie, so much that life with you
anywhere would seem perfect and complete, while life