tramp printer and
her own employee.

One bright forenoon in April, one of those utterly perfect spring days
in which April appears in the coquettish garb of June, I saw Nort
suddenly start up from his work, seize his coat, and shoot out of the
door. In the afternoon, as I was going homeward along the lanes and
across the fields, I came upon him in a grove of young maple trees. He
was lying flat on his back in the leaves, all flecked with sunshine, his
arms opened wide, one leg lifted high over the other. He was looking up
into the green wonder of the vegetation. Such a look of sheer pagan joy
of life I have rarely seen on a human face. When he saw me he sprang to
his feet.

"Isn't it wonderful--all of it?" he said. "Why, David, I could write
poetry, if I knew how!"

"Or paint pictures--or carve statues, or compose music," I put in.

"Anything is possible on a day like this!"

"Except printing a country newspaper."

He laughed ruefully, threw back his head impatiently and utterly refused
to discuss that subject.

I took the rascal home with me, to Harriet's delight, and he followed me
around afterward, while I did my chores.

The next morning, just as he was starting for town, he began telling
Harriet how much he had enjoyed coming to see us--so many times during
the past months.

"I wish," he said, "there was some way of showing you and David how much
I appreciate it."

Here he stopped abruptly and his eyes began to glow.

"I have it. A great idea! You're in it, Miss Grayson!"

Harriet stood watching his slight active figure until it quite
disappeared beyond the hill. Then she came in, looking absent-minded, a
very rare expression for her, and I even thought I heard her sigh
softly.

"What's the matter, Harriet?"

"That boy! That perfectly irresponsible boy! He needs some one to look
after him."

Nort's idea was not long in bearing fruit. Harriet found the letter in
the mail box addressed to both of us in Nort's handwriting. She brought
it in, tearing it open curiously.

"I can't _conceive_--addressed to both of us."

She finally opened it and produced a card neatly printed with these
words:

_Fergus MacGregor
and
Norton Carr
request the pleasure of
your company at dinner
Friday evening, April twenty-third,
at the office of
The Hempfield Star
to meet
Tom, Dick, and Old Harry_
R. S. V. P.

"What in the world!" exclaimed Harriet.

It was as much of a surprise to