w gets moved, for instance, he meets new--"

"Girls?" suggested Frankie, smiling faintly.

"Yes--like you."

Miss Arling did not recognize the attempt at gallantry.

"I suppose you have been moved pretty often, haven't you, Mr. Dunlap?"

"Six times in four years."

"Have you a girl in every place where you lived?"

"Not exactly," he laughed. "Of course, I write an odd letter to
somebody in every one of those towns."

The school-girl had found out what she wanted to know. If Dunlap had
come to visit her with any idea that she had forgotten her
school-"fellow," Nelson, he could not have cherished the illusion long,
for she seemed to lose interest in everything, all very suddenly, and
when he suggested that he probably ought to go back and balance the
ledger-keeper's books she encouraged him in so generous an undertaking.
A man with six girls knows when he is wanted.

Frankie went in to her piano and played "Sleep and Forget." That was a
strange selection for a young school-girl to choose; but young girls
are born dramatists. Darkness had fallen and the stars were beginning
to peep. She was on the verandah again, looking at the evening sky,
wondering why people left home and loved ones for the other things,
wealth, fame, pleasure, change. The night had sadness in its
countenance--which it reflected to the girl's. She was quite like a
summer's evening. She should have been, perhaps, more like a summer
morning.

While the Hometon girl stood on her father's verandah, gazing and
philosophizing, Evan stood on the Watersea verandah at Mt. Alban,
gazing also, but not reflecting. He was looking into the eyes of
Julia, rather steadily for a lad of less than eighteen, and talking.

"Mighty good of you to take in a stranger like me," he was saying.

"My dear boy" (Julia was past nineteen), "we just love to have your
company. Come any time you can."

He had a sudden impulse to take her hand, but she seemed to detect it,
and subdued him with a powerful smile.

"Miss Wat--"

"Call me 'Julia,' won't you?"

"All right, I will." (But he didn't.) "I think you are a good sport."

"Oh, Mr.--"

"Call me 'Evan,' will you?"

"What a nice name," she smiled; "it's odd. All right, Evan, but you
mustn't call me a 'sport.'"

He had thought it was going to be considerable of a compliment.

"You know what I mean, Miss--Julia!"

"Oh, don't call me 'Miss Julia,'" she laughed; "that sounds like a
maiden aunt."