in her good-night kiss.

"Aunt M'ri," asked the boy, looking up with his deep, searching eyes
and a suspicion of a smile about his lips, "did you and Judge Thorne
talk over my education? He said that he was going to speak to you
about it."

Her eyes sparkled.

"David, the Judge is coming to dinner Sunday. We will talk it over
with you then."

"Aunt M'ri," a little note of wistfulness chasing the bantering look
from his eyes, "you aren't going to leave us now?"

"Not for a year, David," she said, a soft flush coming to her face.

"He's waited seven," thought David, "so one more won't make so much
difference. Anyway, we need a year to get used to it."

After all, David was only a boy. His flights of romantic fancy
vanished in remembrance of the blissful certainty that there would be
ice cream for dinner on Sunday next and on many Sundays thereafter.

CHAPTER IX

The little trickle of uneven days was broken one morning by a message
which was brought by the "hired man from Randall's."

"We've got visitors from the city tew our house," he announced. "They
want you to send Janey over tew play with their little gal."

Befitting the honor of the occasion, Janey was attired in her
blue-sprigged muslin and allowed to wear the turquoises. David drove
her to Maplewood, the pretentious home of the Randalls, intending to
call for her later. When they came to the entrance of the grounds at
the end of a long avenue of maples a very tiny girl, immaculate in
white, with hair of gold and eyes darkly blue, came out from among the
trees. She regarded David with deep, grave eyes as he stepped from the
wagon to open the gate.

"You've come to play with me," she stated in a tone of assurance.

"I've brought Janey to play with you," he rejoined, indicating his
little companion. "If you'll get in the wagon, I'll drive you up to
the house."

She held up her slender little arms to him, and David felt as if he
were lifting a doll.

"My name in Carey Winthrop. What is yours?" she demanded of Janey as
they all rode up the shaded, graveled road.

"Janey Brumble," replied the visitor, gaining ease from the
ingenuousness of the little girl and from the knowledge that she was
older than her hostess.

"And he's your brother?" indicating David.

"He's my adopted brother," said Janey; "he's David Dunne."

"I wish I had a 'dopted brother," sighed the little girl, eying David
wistfully.

David drove up to the side entrance o