upon her teacher. He had thought of her so
often when across the sea, and, knowing her love of the beautiful, he
had never looked upon a painting or scene of rare beauty that he did not
wish her by his side sharing in the pleasure. He had brought her from
that far-off land many little trophies which he thought she would prize,
and which he was going to take with him when he went to the farmhouse.
He never dreamed of her coming there to-night. She would, of course,
wait for him. Helen had, even when it was more her place to call upon
him first. How, then, was he amazed when, just as the sun was going down
and he was watching its last rays lingering on the brow of the hill
across the pond, the library door was opened wide and the room seemed
suddenly filled with life and joy, as a graceful figure, with reddish,
golden hair, bounded across the floor, and winding its arms around his
neck gave him the hearty kiss which Katy had in her mind when she
declined Aunt Betsy's favorite vegetable.

Morris Grant was not averse to being kissed, and yet the fact that Katy
Lennox had kissed him in such a way awoke a chill of disappointment, for
it said that to her he was the teacher still, the elder brother, whom,
as a child, she had in her pretty way loaded with caresses.

"Oh, Cousin Morris!" she exclaimed, and, still holding his hand: "Why
didn't you come over at noon, you naughty, naughty boy? But what a
splendid-looking man you've got to be, though! and what do you think of
me?" she added, blushing for the first time, as he held her off from him
and looked into the sunny face.

"I think you wholly unchanged," he answered, so gravely that Katy began
to pout as she said: "And you are sorry, I know. Pray, what did you
expect of me, and what would you have me be?"

"Nothing but what you are--the same Kitty as of old," he answered, his
own bright smile breaking all over his sober face.

He saw that his manner repelled her, and he tried to be natural,
succeeding so well that Katy forgot her first disappointment, and making
him sit by her on the sofa, where she could see him distinctly, she
poured forth a volley of talk, telling him, among other things, how much
afraid of him some of his letters made her--they were so serious and so
like a sermon.

"You wrote me once that you thought of being a minister," she added.
"Why did you change your mind? It must be splendid, I think, to be a
young clergyman--invited to so many tea-drinking