ered that he had come across lots and around the
house from the back, but just then his sudden advent was almost uncanny.
I ran downstairs and opened the door. On the step stood a man about
six feet two in height, and proportionately broad and sinewy. He had
splendid shoulders, a great crop of curly black hair, big, twinkling
blue eyes, and a tremendous crinkly black beard that fell over his
breast in shining waves. In brief, Mr. Malcolm MacPherson was what one
would call instinctively, if somewhat tritely, "a magnificent specimen
of manhood."

In one hand he carried a bunch of early goldenrod and smoke-blue asters.

"Good afternoon," he said in a resonant voice which seemed to take
possession of the drowsy summer afternoon. "Is Miss Olivia Sterling in?
And will you please tell her that Malcolm MacPherson is here?"

I showed him into the parlour. Then Peggy and I peeped through the crack
of the door. Anyone would have done it. We would have scorned to excuse
ourselves. And, indeed, what we saw would have been worth several
conscience spasms if we had felt any.

Aunt Olivia arose and advanced primly, with outstretched hand.

"Mr. MacPherson, I am very glad to see you," she said formally.

"It's yourself, Nillie!" Mr. Malcolm MacPherson gave two strides.

He dropped his flowers on the floor, knocked over a small table, and
sent the ottoman spinning against the wall. Then he caught Aunt
Olivia in his arms and--smack, smack, smack! Peggy sank back upon the
stair-step with her handkerchief stuffed in her mouth. Aunt Olivia was
being kissed!

Presently, Mr. Malcolm MacPherson held her back at arm's length in his
big paws and looked her over. I saw Aunt Olivia's eyes roam over his arm
to the inverted table and the litter of asters and goldenrod. Her sleek
crimps were all ruffled up, and her lace fichu twisted half around her
neck. She looked distressed.

"It's not a bit changed you are, Nillie," said Mr. Malcolm MacPherson
admiringly. "And it's good I'm feeling to see you again. Are you glad to
see me, Nillie?"

"Oh, of course," said Aunt Olivia.

She twisted herself free and went to set up the table. Then she turned
to the flowers, but Mr. Malcolm MacPherson had already gathered them up,
leaving a goodly sprinkling of leaves and stalks on the carpet.

"I picked these for you in the river field, Nillie," he said. "Where
will I be getting something to stick them in? Here, this will do."

He grasped a frail, paint