the Ancient Mariner sell his albatross and take a
nice little trip around the world on the proceeds? Mother would die of a
broken heart if I mentioned it to her. The Marsh family have been the
slaves of that vineyard since the first mistaken ancestor went into the
grape business. We've fertilised it, pruned it, protected it, tied it
up, sat up nights with it, fanned the insects away from it, hired people
to pick the fruit and pack it, fed the people, entertained them, sent
presents to their wives and children--we've done everything! And what
have we had for it? Only a very moderate living, all the grapes we could
eat, and a few bottles of musty old wine.

"Mother, of course, has very little to do with it, and, to her, it has
come to represent some sort of entailed possession that becomes more
sacred every year. It's a family heirloom, like a title, or some very
old and valuable piece of jewelry. Other people have family plate and
family traditions, but we've got a vineyard, or, to speak more
truthfully, it has us."

[Sidenote: Happy Muses]

"Look at the Muses," said Rosemary, after a silence. "Do you think
they've gone to sleep?"

The nine slender birches, that had apparently paused in their flight
down the hillside, were, indeed, very still. Not a twig stirred, and the
white trunks were ghostly in the twilight. Seemingly they leaned toward
each other for protection and support; for comfort in the loneliness of
the night.

"Happy Muses," he responded. "No vineyard to look after and no school to
teach."

"And no Grandmother," continued Rosemary, "and no Aunt. Nor any dishes
or brooms or scrubbing-brushes, or stoves that are possessed by evil
spirits."

Star-like, a single light appeared in the front window of the big white
house on the shore of the river. It was answered almost immediately by
another, far across the stream.

"I like to watch the lights," the girl went on. "The first one is always
in your house."

"Yes, I know. Mother dislikes twilight."

"Ours is the last--on account of the price of oil."

"Here," he said. "I almost forgot your book. And I brought you two
candles this time. You mustn't read by the light of one--you'll spoil
your eyes."

[Sidenote: Saying Good-Night]

"Oh, Mr. Marsh! Thank you so much!"

"You're very welcome, Miss Starr."

"Please don't. I like to have you call me Rosemary."

"Then you must call me Alden. I've been telling you that for almost two
years."

"I know