thing at all about, and then whispered in
his ear that he would get home the quicker if in the obscurity he ran
across the Johns' farm. Fate, laughing in her sleeve, led him to pass
with noiseless footsteps quite near the house itself; then she was
content to leave him to his own devices, for through the open window he
caught sight of Helen Johns doing her gymnastics. Her figure was all
aglow with the yellow lamplight; she was happy in the poetry of her
motions and in the delight that the family circle took in watching them.
The Baby was in the dark and the falling dew; he was uncomfortable, for
he had to stand on tiptoe, but nothing would have induced him to ease
his strained attitude. The pangs of a fierce discontent took possession
of his breast.

Art was consulted in the gymnasium in which Miss Johns had studied; the
theory was that only that which is beautiful is healthful. Sometimes she
poised herself on tiptoe with one arm waved toward heaven, an angel all
ready, save the wings, for aerial flight. Sometimes she seemed to hover
above the ground like a running Mercury. Sometimes she stood, a hand
behind her ear, listening as a maid might who was flying from danger in
some enchanted land. Often she waved her hands slowly as if weaving a
spell.

A spell was cast over the soul of the Baby; he held himself against the
extreme edge of a verandah; his mouth remained open as if he were
drinking in the beams from the bright interior and all the beautiful
pictures that they brought with them. It was only when the show was over
that he noiselessly relaxed his strained muscles, and crept away over
the dew-drenched grass, hiding under the shadow of maple boughs, guilty
trespasser that he was.

After that, one evening, Farmer Johns and his niece had an errand to
run; at a house about two miles away on the other side of the bay there
was a parcel which it was their duty to fetch. They had started out in
the calm white light of summer twilight; a slight wind blew, just enough
to take their sail creeping over the rippled water, no more. The lake
within a mile of the shore was thickly strewn with small yachts, boats,
and canoes. Upon the green shore the colours of the gaily painted villas
could still be seen among the trees, and most conspicuous of all the
great barn-like boat-house of the Syndicate, which was painted red. By
and by the light grew dimmer and stars came out in the sky; then one
could no longer distinguish the out