sojourn with her daughter in neighboring state, Comrade Claflin's garrulous reminiscences served well to conceal the train of thought that was going on in his own and his companions' minds. Nevertheless it was with a palpable relief that the little party rose at the sound of the dinner bell.

Each of the three glanced furtively about the dining room, but the Widow Phelps was not to be seen. She had preferred a cup of tea with a kindred spirit in her own vine-smothered cottage, rather than the familiar volubility of the general dining hall. Though the Widow Phelps, not unlike others of her sex, doted on admiration, she was nothing if not elegant.

She and her departed husband had occupied snug rooms in onehalf of a small double cottage and the management had seemed in no hurry to transfer the bereaved lady to the crowded dormitories of "Widows' Hall." Her cottage stood on the shady street that overlooked the picturesque waters of Mirror Lake, on the banks of which the Soldiers' Home was built. This street was a favorite promenade for all the inmates of the Home; it was, therefore, scarcely a noteworthy fact that at half past one on that particular afternoon two ancient blue coats covering two venerable but hopeful hearts should have been making an unsuspicious way from opposite directions along the shadowy street.

reflected from the lake and rereflected by the new oak leaves overhead. His heavy face was illuminated by an inward glow of determination.

The two friends met just in front of the widow's neat, rose-bordered garden plot. Each brought up with a gasp of recognition and an awkward salute.

"Afternoon, Comrade," said

Stringer.

"Afternoon, Comrade," responded Eldredge.

They hesitated. "Thought you said you was a-goin' to take a nap,” queried Comrade Stringer.

"Changed my mind an' come out fer a walk. Thought you said you was a-goin' fishin'."

"Changed my mind an' started out fer a little stroll. It's gettin' consid'able warm, ain't it?"

"Yes, 'tis."

They looked off at the placid expanse of Mirror Lake and then up at the equally placid sky. No suitable topic of conversation seemed to suggest itself. They carefully avoided glancing at the widow's discreetly drawn window. shades.

"Well, I guess I'll be goin' on," murmured Eldredge ponderously, at

last.

"Well, see you later," answered Stringer with a nervous skip of

relief.

Each continued his ostentatiously aimless stroll. At the end of the block each, in his innocent belief that the other was well on his way in the direction he had been pursuing, turned toward the widow's cottage and started back at an accel

erated pace. Each perceived his rival afar off, but after it was to late to change his tactics. Ea

assumed his former nonchalance. They stopped again before the Widow Phelps's door.

"It cert'nly is a-gettin' warmer," gasped Elias Eldredge, mopping his rubicund brow.

"Yes, most too warm to walk," replied the nonplussed Orson Stringer.

"Yes, 'tis."

across

Again they looked out the waters and again at the unsuggestive sky. Again they avoided as much as a glance at the widow's inviting piazza. Silence ensued.

"I'll tell you what," said Stringer, brightening as if an idea had just occurred to him; "'s long 's it's too hot to walk, let's go 'n' call on the Widder Phelps. She's just got back, you rec'lect, an' it mus' be kind o sad fer her; she'll need cheerin'."

"That ain't a bad idee," responded Elias readily. "It ain't no more 'n right that we should drop in, 's long 's we was good friends o' Pike

ton's."

The matter thus satisfactorily settled, the two old veterans marched solemnly up the walk-with much the same air as that they had worn at the funeral of the late Piketon Phelps. As Comrade Stringer rapped sharply on the door jamb they both became aware of voices within, and a subdued tinkle of ice against a glass.

The Widow Phelps came quickly to the screen door and opened it with a motion of surprise and pleasure. She had exchanged her black satin waist for a thin one very much lace-trimmed, through which her plump neck and arms and a certain lavender-beribboned undergarment were dimly visible. She shook

each of her callers cordially by the hand.

"Now, Mr. Stringer-and Mr. Eldredge-I do think it's just lovely of you to come an' see me so soon after I got back. And you ain't the first, neither," she added, stepping back and disclosing through the cool darkness of the parlor the familiar form and face of Comrade Claflin, who sat awkwardly on the edge of a small, twisted-brass parlor-chair, holding a glass of lemonade in his uncertain fingers. He looked sheepish and uncomfortable.

"Afternoon, Comrade," mumbled. the two callers in unison. They sat down blindly in the red plush chairs that the widow pulled forward for them.

"Thought you said you was goin' to Ballard this afternoon, to get your pension check cashed," said Orson Stringer, fixing a condemnatory eye

on

Peter Claflin. The old man shuffled his feet guiltily, drank a hurried gulp of lemonade and answered with an embarrassed air, "Well, I changed my mind, 'n' come out fer a trifle of a walk, 'n' then I thought I'd call 'n' see how Mis' Phelps felt after her long visit."

Mr.

"I'm a-feelin' fine," put in the widow, adjusting her rhinestonestudded sidecombs; "just fine. Only it's dreadful warm, isn't it? Claflin 'n' I was just refreshin' ourselves with a sip of lemonade. There's lots of it here. Do let me give you some." give you some." And she poured out two generous glasses and handed them to the intruders, now somewhat mollified by the cordiality of their reception. "Tell me everything that's happened since I went away," she said, smiling impartially at her three guests, who were still

staring moodily at her; "I'm just dyin' to hear the news. Who's married an' who's died-since poor dear Piketon passed away?"

She touched her eyes with a black-bordered handkerchief, and sighed. Then she smiled impartially again. Rivulets of news began to trickle from reluctant lips. Before long the four were talking steadily and amicably-ignoring persistently the shadow that lingered among them, which was not the shade of the departed Piketon Phelps.

The shadow followed the three old men to the supper table that night, and stayed with them while they sat out on the rustic benches in the cool purple dusk. Things were better the next morning, and almost the usual degree of friendliness reigned at dinner. In the afternoon, Eldredge and Claflin started out for a walk, wondering audibly as they went as to the whereabouts of Orson Stringer, who had left them abruptly as soon as the noon meal was over. The problem was solved unexpectedly when the two old men, seating themselves on the bank for a few moments' rest, espied their recalcitrant companion brazenly assisting the Widow Phelps aboard a hired rowboat at the dock below. A much-ruffled black and lavender sunshade hid the widow's shapely head, but head, but her familiar laugh was wafted to the watchers on the lakeside. Comrade Eldredge snorted as the little skiff shot out over the vitreous surface of the water.

"Seems 's if old Stringer's plum crazy over the Widder Phelps," he observed scornfully. "I'd be fried in bear's grease afore I'd make such.

a ninny of myself fer a woman. He's actin' like a batty old simpletonan' him with the spring halt, too." The speaker stretched out his two plump and sturdy legs before him. as if to indicate that no one could rightly accuse him of either the physical or sentimental defects of Orson Stringer.

"I feel the same way, 'Lias," responded Peter Claflin, punching holes in the earth with his cane. "It's no more 'n proper that we sh'd show respect to Pike by

a-callin' on her now 'n' then-but as to propellin' of her round the lake. in one o' them tee-totterish little mussel shells, there ain't no airthly call fer it, an' to my notion, Stringer is makin' a holy spectacle of himself a-doin' of it.'

"That he is, Comrade," rejoined Elias Eldredge. "That he is, 'n' I'm glad it ain't you or me that's got so far into our secon' childhood as to make steam enjines of ourselves fer the Widder Phelps."

The next evening, after supper, Comrade Claflin was unaccountably missing from the accustomed group. For four years the three old men if not to be found together could give an unerring statement of one another's whereabouts at any hour of the day or night. The unexplained absence of a member of the circle was a thing to be remarked.

"Supposin' we peg around a little an' see where he's a-disportin' of himself," suggested Orson Stringer, whose unimpaired eyesight had noted the Sunday necktie on Comrade Claflin's blue-checked shirt front at supper, and whose sharp little nose had detected the odor of cologne hovering about the table and had traced it to the red bandanna

handkerchief of Comrade Claflin. Accordingly, two-thirds of the usual little group set out in search of the remaining fraction, Orson Stringer limping along briskly by the side of the lumbering Elias. All at once Orson grasped his companion's arm. "Look a' there," he exclaimed excitedly. "Look a' there!"

Comrade Claflin and the Widow Phelps were emerging from the ice. cream parlor just across the border of the Soldiers' Home grounds. They were too preoccupied to notice. their two friends standing at a little distance, regarding them with reproachful surprise.

"Ain't that a kid trick—a-takin' of her to eat ice cream, just as if they wan't more 'n sixteen 'n' a half, an' both of 'em goin' on a hunderd!" This from Orson Stringer whose withered little face was working nervously under the stress of his emotions. "I call that too condemned silly for nothin'." The bitterness in his tone awakened a like remembrance of yesterday in the mind of the lethargic Elias.

"I do know as it's any worse." he retorted heavily, "than a-bustin' your backbone to slivers a-rowin' of her roun' the lake in a skiff-boatan' her weighin' well nigh to a ton. It seems to me that's as silly a trick as I've seen in a dog's age."

Orson Stringer was fairly caught. He flushed sharply as he turned on his companion. "So you've been a-spyin' on me, hev' you, 'Lias Eldredge," he cried angrily; "a-spyin' on your old comrade that's always treated you as decent as any man a-livin' could. That's all I want to know o' you-" and he limped furiously away before the repentant Elias could apologize for his un

guarded remark or explain the innocent manner of his "spyin'."

The next morning Orson Stringer did not breakfast with his former friends. He stalked in stiffly after they were seated and took a place at a table across the room. He did not so much as glance at them. during the meal, and Eldredge and Claflin appeared not to notice his absence. Matters were the same at dinner and again at supper. Then Comrade Claflin, who was an inoffensive soul and could not bear hard feelings, came softly up to Stringer as he sat by himself on the steps of the Old Men's building. "Come on, Orson," he said, as if nothing had happened, "let's take a look around 'n' see what's doin' on the lake front."

Orson rose without speaking and the two made their way slowly to the shady street along the bank of Mirror Lake. It was almost dark, and the quiet coolness of the street threw an atmosphere of reconciliation around the two old friends. Suddenly Orson spoke.

"Seems to me I hear music," he remarked. "Where d'ye s'pose it

the chair and falling about her in billowy folds. Opposite her on the sofa sat Elias Eldredge, his eyes fixed upon the ceiling as he thrummed the strings of his guitar. From his big frame issued the tremulous soprano voice, the pride and admiration of his friends. He was singing lustily, pausing at the end of every line for breath:

him. Orson Stringer limped up soberly some moments after, and sat down silently in his accustomed place. He was followed a half hour later by Comrade Claflin. The three sat whittling and smoking without a word, one mutely complacent, the others mutely dejected, seeing him already as a rival assured of success.

"Car's a-comin'," remarked Orson

Thou art gone star-r-r-wardThou art gone like the summer flowers away-y-y."

to the lan-n-d that is

The widow was visibly affected. She dabbed her eyes with her blackbordered handkerchief and rested her cheek passively on her hand.

The two old men outside stood transfixed to the sidewalk till the last note had shivered away through the treetops. Then they strode on in moody silence.

"Music always gits 'em," muttered Comrade Claflin at last, striking the trunk of a tree viciously with his cane.

"That's so," assented Orson, sadly. "You c'n spend your last cent f'r 'em an' wear yourself to a skeleton a-waitin' on 'em, but you ain't got no show with some red-faced old guy that c'n pound the catarrh a little, an' squawk like a hen with the weasels after her."

"Well," remarked the other after a reflective pause, "I s'pose it's a fine thing to have a musical giftbut if I owned a catarrh and looked like that a-playin' of it, I'd fire it where corn was four dollars bushel-widder or no widder!"

a

The next afternoon Elias Eldredge seated himself on his favorite rustic bench, regarding with satisfaction himself and the world about

The three turned to watch the yellow cage of the car as it slowed up at the Soldiers' Home station. Down the rear steps came a tall, thin gentleman with a frock coat, red side whiskers and gold-rimmed glasses. He turned with a proud gesture of ownership and assisted the Widow Phelps to alight, holding her hand tenderly a moment after he had deposited her safely upon the platform. The widow wore a gray silk gown with lavender chiffon trimmings; around her wide black hat was a wreath of purple roses. She caught sight of the three comrades, lost in wonder, gazing at her from the rustic seats under the box elders. Speaking a word to the stranger she led him to the place where the old men sat. They watched her coming, fascinated but speechless.

"Gentlemen," said the widow archly, "I'll give you the honor of bein' the first to meet my husband, the Rev'rend Dobson. He's from Grand Rapids, Michigan, where my daughter lives, you know. We was just married at the Methodist parsonage in Ballard."

Orson Stringer was the first to recover. He rose mechanically and took the white outstretched hand of the smiling Mr. Dobson. "Glad to meet ye," he muttered, incoher