chids and monkeys!"

"But, Justine, in winter you could take care of the monkeys," the
practical Cicely suggested.

"Yes--and that would remind me of home!" Justine cried, swinging about
to pinch the little girl's chin.

She was in one of the buoyant moods when the spirit of life caught her
in its grip, and shook and tossed her on its mighty waves as a sea-bird
is tossed through the spray of flying rollers. At such moments all the
light and music of the world seemed distilled into her veins, and forced
up in bubbles of laughter to her lips and eyes. Amherst had never seen
her thus, and he watched her with the sense of relaxation which the
contact of limpid gaiety brings to a mind obscured by failure and
self-distrust. The world was not so dark a place after all, if such
springs of merriment could well up in a heart as sensitive as hers to
the burden and toil of existence.

"Isn't it strange," she went on with a sudden drop to gravity, "that the
bird whose wings carry him farthest and show him the most wonderful
things, is the one who always comes back to the eaves, and is happiest
in the thick of everyday life?"

Her eyes met Amherst's. "It seems to me," he said, "that you're like
that yourself--loving long flights, yet happiest in the thick of life."

She raised her dark brows laughingly. "So I imagine--but then you see
I've never had the long flight!"

Amherst smiled. "Ah, there it is--one never knows--one never says, _This
is the moment_! because, however good it is, it always seems the door to
a better one beyond. Faust never said it till the end, when he'd nothing
left of all he began by thinking worth while; and then, with what a
difference it was said!"

She pondered. "Yes--but it _was_ the best, after all--the moment in
which he had nothing left...."

"Oh," Cicely broke in suddenly, "do look at the squirrel up there! See,
father--he's off! Let's follow him!"

As she crouched there, with head thrown back, and sparkling lips and
eyes, her fair hair--of her mother's very hue--making a shining haze
about her face, Amherst recalled the winter evening at Hopewood, when he
and Bessy had tracked the grey squirrel under the snowy beeches.
Scarcely three years ago--and how bitter memory had turned! A chilly
cloud spread over his spirit, reducing everything once more to the
leaden hue of reality....

"It's too late for any more adventures--we must be going," he said.

XX

AMHERST'S morning excursio