llowing him about to straighten out things. Once she even
got a wing and dustpan and swept the cigar ashes under his very eyes.

"Now don't be worrying yourself over that, Nillie," he protested. "Why,
I don't mind a litter, bless you!"

How good and jolly he was, that Mr. Malcolm MacPherson! Such songs as he
sang, such stories as he told, such a breezy, unconventional atmosphere
as he brought into that prim little house, where stagnant dullness had
reigned for years! He worshipped Aunt Olivia, and his worship took the
concrete form of presents galore. He brought her a present almost every
visit--generally some article of jewelry. Bracelets, rings, chains,
ear-drops, lockets, bangles, were showered upon our precise little aunt;
she accepted them deprecatingly, but never wore them. This hurt him a
little, but she assured him she would wear them all sometimes.

"I am not used to jewelry, Mr. MacPherson," she would tell him.

Her engagement ring she did wear--it was a rather "loud" combination
of engraved gold and opals. Sometimes we caught her turning it on her
finger with a very troubled face.

"I would be sorry for Mr. Malcolm MacPherson if he were not so much in
love with her," said Peggy. "But as he thinks that she is perfection he
doesn't need sympathy."

"I am sorry for Aunt Olivia," I said. "Yes, Peggy, I am. Mr. MacPherson
is a splendid man, but Aunt Olivia is a born old maid, and it is
outraging her very nature to be anything else. Don't you see how it's
hurting her? His big, splendid man-ways are harrowing her very soul
up--she can't get out of her little, narrow groove, and it is killing
her to be pulled out."

"Nonsense!" said Peggy. Then she added with a laugh,

"Mary, did you ever see anything so funny as Aunt Olivia sitting on 'Mr.
Malcolm MacPherson's' knee?"

It WAS funny. Aunt Olivia thought it very unbecoming to sit there before
us, but he made her do it. He would say, with his big, jolly laugh,
"Don't be minding the little girls," and pull her down on his knee and
hold her there. To my dying day I shall never forget the expression on
the poor little woman's face.

But, as the days went by and Mr. Malcolm MacPherson began to insist on
a date being set for the wedding, Aunt Olivia grew to have a strangely
disturbed look. She became very quiet, and never laughed except under
protest. Also, she showed signs of petulance when any of us, but
especially father, teased her about her beau. I pitied he