kle left Belle's forehead.

"Do you really think he means anything?" said she.

"Don't be too sanguine about it. Nowadays, young men pay a girl a great
deal of attention with nothing in their heads but a good time."

"Still, Axworthy's no boy. He's thirty if he's a day, and he has a good
salary, and can afford to marry whenever the mood takes him."

"Let us hope and pray that it may take him soon!"

"Amen!" said Belle solemnly.

The daily friction with her _protegee_ was becoming too much for the
good-natured patience even of my better half. Acting upon generous
impulses is all very fine, but they need to be backed up by a large
amount of endurance and tolerance if the results are to be successfully
dealt with.

From my vantage-ground on the nursery sofa, behind my screen of
newspaper, I frequently hear more than is suspected by the family.

"Mary, you're not going to the rink to-night!" in Belle's most imploring
tone.

"Yes, mawm, I am. Lend me your wrench, Watty."

"Mary, I positively forbid you to go to the rink!"

"Well, I do think that's just too mean for anything. Every girl in town
goes."

"Every girl in town doesn't skate with barber, or bandsman, or anybody
who comes along, as you do."

"Watty's been telling!"

"Watty hasn't been telling!" broke in our eldest son in indignant
protest, which he further emphasized by going out and banging the door
after him.

"And, Mary," Belle continued, "are you engaged to Mr. Axworthy?"

"No!" sullenly.

"Then if I were you I wouldn't let him kiss me when he says
'Good-night' at the door after bringing you home from a party."

"You're old-fashioned. All the girls do it!"

"No _lady_ would permit a man to take such a liberty. You're spoiling
your chances with Mr. Axworthy, I can tell you. I never knew a man yet
that would bind himself to a girl when he could have all the privileges
of an engaged man, and none of the responsibilities."

"I don't care anything at all about him. I don't want to marry him. He's
just giving me a good time."

A good time he undoubtedly did give her throughout the winter. To the
smartest balls and parties he was her escort, and she always wore the
roses he never neglected to send. Every Sunday about dusk he would come
round to our house, and, martyrs to a good cause, Isabel, mother, and I
vacated the cozy parlor with its easy chairs and blazing fire for the
nursery--always uproarious with children on that day.

"I wonder w