ere changed now; for Di grew alarmingly rigid during the
ceremony; Laura received the salute like a graceful queen; and Nan
returned it with heart and eyes and tender lips, making such an
improvement on the childish fashion of the thing that John was moved to
support his paternal character by softly echoing her father's
words,--"Take care of yourself, my little 'Martha.'"

Then they all streamed after him along the garden-path, with the
endless messages and warnings girls are so prone to give; and the young
man, with a great softness at his heart, went away, as many another
John has gone, feeling better for the companionship of innocent
maidenhood, and stronger to wrestle with temptation, to wait and hope
and work.

"Let's throw a shoe after him for luck, as dear old 'Mrs. Gummage' did
after 'David' and the 'willin' Barkis!' Quick, Nan! you always have old
shoes on; toss one, and shout, 'Good luck!'" cried Di, with one of her
eccentric inspirations.

Nan tore off her shoe, and threw it far along the dusty road, with a
sudden longing to become that auspicious article of apparel, that the
omen might not fail.

Looking backward from the hill-top, John answered the meek shout
cheerily, and took in the group with a lingering glance: Laura in the
shadow of the elms, Di perched on the fence, and Nan leaning far over
the gate with her hand above her eyes and the sunshine touching her
brown hair with gold. He waved his hat and turned away; but the music
seemed to die out of the blackbird's song, and in all the summer
landscape his eyes saw nothing but the little figure at the gate.

"Bless and save us! here's a flock of people coming; my hair is in a
toss, and Nan's without her shoe; run! fly, girls! or the Philistines
will be upon us!" cried Di, tumbling off her perch in sudden alarm.

Three agitated young ladies, with flying draperies and countenances of
mingled mirth and dismay, might have been seen precipitating themselves
into a respectable mansion with unbecoming haste; but the squirrels
were the only witnesses of this "vision of sudden flight," and, being
used to ground-and-lofty tumbling, didn't mind it.

When the pedestrians passed, the door was decorously closed, and no one
visible but a young man, who snatched something out of the road, and
marched away again, whistling with more vigor of tone than accuracy of
tune, "Only that, and nothing more."

HOW IT WAS FOUND.

Summer ripened into autumn, and som