perhuman qualities he would indeed "be surprised."

The next afternoon Ruth went down to Miss Ainslie's. "You've been
neglecting me, dear," said that gentle soul, as she opened the door.

"I haven't meant to," returned Ruth, conscience-stricken, as she
remembered how long it had been since the gate of the old-fashioned
garden had swung on its hinges for her.

A quiet happiness had settled down upon Ruth and the old perturbed
spirit was gone, but Miss Ainslie was subtly different. "I feel as if
something was going to happen," she said.

"Something nice?"

"I--don't know." The sweet face was troubled and there were fine lines
about the mouth, such as Ruth had never seen there before.

"You're nervous, Miss Ainslie--it's my turn to scold now."

"I never scolded you, did I deary?"

"You couldn't scold anybody--you're too sweet. You're not unhappy, are
you, Miss Ainslie?"

"I? Why, no! Why should I be unhappy?" Her deep eyes were fixed upon
Ruth.

"I--I didn't know," Ruth answered, in confusion.

"I learned long ago," said Miss Ainslie, after a little, "that we may be
happy or not, just as we choose. Happiness is not a circumstance, nor a
set of circumstances; it's only a light, and we may keep it burning if
we will. So many of us are like children, crying for the moon, instead
of playing contentedly with the few toys we have. We're always hoping
for something, and when it does n't come we fret and worry; when
it does, why there's always something else we'd rather have. We
deliberately make nearly all of our unhappiness, with our own
unreasonable discontent, and nothing will ever make us happy, deary,
except the spirit within."

"But, Miss Ainslie," Ruth objected, "do you really think everybody can
be happy?"

"Of course--everybody who wishes to be. Some people are happier when
they're miserable. I don't mean, deary, that it's easy for any of us,
and it's harder for some than for others, all because we never grow
up. We're always children--our playthings are a little different, that's
all."

"'Owning ourselves forever children,' quoted Ruth, "'gathering pebbles
on a boundless shore.'"

"Yes, I was just thinking of that. A little girl breaks her doll, and
though the new one may be much prettier, it never wholly fills the
vacant place, and it's that way with a woman's dream." The sweet voice
sank into a whisper, followed by a lingering sigh.

"Miss Ainslie," said Ruth, after a pause, "did you know my mot