"Elsie, am I keeping you in? I have not thought to ask if you were going anywhere." She smiled and bethought herself that inaction was not good in his present mood.

"I was going for a walk and can go as well another time. I was going quite by myself. You know, I am never afraid."

"No, I never knew you to be afraid from the time we were children at school until now. I have always liked you for that. But would you mind letting me go with you for the walk? We used to like 'pushing the wind' together. Shall we go?"

Elsie put on her cloak and little red cap, and the two young people started

avoid what they saw. From the broad front windows the light streamed brightly. The shades were not drawn. Rose sat at the piano, and over her in rapt attention stood Norman Cady. John almost dragged Elsie past, though he said nothing. He did not know that he gripped her arm till it hurt and that he was walking at a pace that would have put a less healthy girl than Elsie utterly out of breath.

It was a raw night, with a sharp wind. The moon was high and cold, and the sky was streaked with flying clouds. The road was good, and they walked on and on, out of the town and along the river road. The girl was unwilling to disturb her companion's silent mood and swung gladly beside him. At length they reached the boat house and a great pile

J.C.CROFTON

W.H.HAUN

of rough logs in a sheltered corner. John stopped here and proposed resting.

"Elsie," he said, "I must have tired you all out. I am a selfish brute to drag you about like this. I was trying to get away from myself by reminding myself what a stanch friend you have always been. I had not intended to tell you my troubles, but I think I must if you will

let me.

"Tell me about it," she replied in the matter of fact comrade's way that made confidence easy.

“All right, but you must not try to help me. No one can do that. I simply need the relief of words before I settle down to forgetting as fast as I can."

He hesitated. A man finds it hard to confide.

"Is it about Rose?" She tried to make it easier for him.

"Elsie, I loved her almost from the minute I saw her. Everybody must know it, for I didn't hide my preference, and when I want anything under the sun it is my way to do my best to get it. I wanted her. Soon I made her my friend and then-well, I thought she loved me, though we had not spoken of it in words. About à month ago I wrote and asked her to marry me. I told her everything a man tells the girl he loves. I asked her to, send me a note in answer and added that I should interpret her failure to do so as a refusal, though I was overconfident enough not to dream of such a thing."

He looked off across the river and drummed his heels against the logs.

"Elsie," he went on, "she did not send me a word! Not one word! And that very night she was heartless enough to smile and nod and blush at me at a concert where we were and seemed to think I would see her home the same as ever! Then the next time we met she did not even speak!"

"Are you sure she received it?"

"Yes, I sent it by my brother, and he put it into her own hand. He did not wait for an answer. "She could have sent that anyway. Well, then I went away a few weeks. I could not stand it here, and now that I am back it is worse than ever. I despise myself for caring, but I hate Norman Cady for being near her. I thought if I told you, perhaps just putting it into words would wear off some of my anger and help me forget her. Elsie, be good to me and help me forget her. Will you?"

The girl touched his arm with her hand.

"You should go to her and have it out in words. There may be some mistake." "There is no mistake. She was simply

playing with me. Elsie, you were always my comrade, be so now in time of need.' Elsie laughed, but it hurt her a little.

"Very well, John, come to me whenever you want to. We will talk and walk and you shall try to forget. I will not fail you.'

March was gone and April had had her last day of grace. It was the evening before May day. Elsie, happy hearted, was waiting on the porch in the twilight. John was to come. Now he nearly always came. They were going for another walk in the spring twilight to wander across the green hills and back along the roadways in the white moonlight. Elsie thought only of the moment, but she could not help a little throb of gladness that he so seldom spoke of Rose. She did not, as at first, regret the coolness that had sprung up between her and Rose. Nothing seemed to matter but being happy without thinking why. John called her "sister" half jokingly, but with entire affection, and while he sometimes wandered off inconsolately by himself he seemed content to be with her. And so she waited. As she waited her 15-year old brother called distressingly from his room:

"Sis, for goodness' sake get my good coat from the closet in the hall! I'm goin' to be late to that party."

Elsie went to the dark closet and emerged with a coat. She knocked at his door.

"Oh, come on in and help me with this fool tie! Great snakes, if you haven't got the wrong coat! Just like a girl! Haven't worn that old thing since winter!" He snatched it from her impatiently upside down. A letter fell from the pocket.

Elsie picked it up, and as she glanced at the address her face went white.

"Terry! What is this?"

At the sound of her voice he turned to look, and then stood stricken with tardy penitence. It was addressed to John Copeland, and in the lower left corner was inscribed in Rose's hand, "Kindness of Terry." Terry stared and struggled with the refractory tie.

"A pretty mess! Rose gave me that months ago, and I promised to take it straight to John. And like a fool I forgot!" Then he cheered up. "Well, they're off anyway now. Probably she'll be glad he never saw it. I will take it back to her tomorrow." He wondered at the strange brightness of his sister's eyes, at the extreme whiteness of her face.

"Gee! Not even Rose can touch you for looks, Sis. I don't wonder that John' She turned from him as John's

ALICE MAY DOUGLAS. People say that other pastors

Preach but one day every week,
And if you would hear the sermons,
You the meeting-house must seek.

But there's Jack down in our woodlot-
You can hear him any day-
Pulpit Jack, who always preaches
In the most delightful way.

O, he preaches by the roadside,

In the swamps or anywhere,

If there's just one flower to hear him, Why, he doesn't seem to care.

But such crowds as flock to hear him, And how lovely are they dressedViolets in white and yellow

And in blue-their Sunday best.

Trilliums in white and purple,
Dandelions all in gold,
Dog's tooth violet, fair lady,
O, so grateful to behold.

And the dogwood in such beauty

But she's poisonous, I've heardThen she's just the one to hear himNeeding most of all God's Word.

O, there's much which is so hideous That within the swamp we findTrees decayed and plants half-dyingBut our pastor doesn't mind.

And he knows one sermon only,
And he gives it everywhere;
'Tis so simple, yet so hopeful—

It is this, "God answers prayer."

The Girl With the Bonny Brown Hair.

For the Children.

[Original]

"Grandpa, tell us about the worst storm you ever saw at sea," said Tommy, aged eight.

"No, don't," protested his little sister. "I'll tell you about a storm in which we were all saved.

"That'll be nice," said the girl. "We left Naples on the 4th of November with twenty passengers. Among them was a girl who seemed to be alone. There was character enough in her face for a dozen heroines. She had brown hair, and when I first saw her it was tied up with a bonny blue ribbon like the girl in the song. I was second mate, and whenever she came on deck the cap'n was sure to growl at me for some neglect of duty. But I didn't mind it so long as I could see the girl with the brown hair.

"We had pleasant weather in the Mediterranean, but we'd no sooner left Gibraltar than a nor'easter began to blow which developed into the worst storm I ever saw at sea. The waves struck us with such force that every time one fell upon us I thought we'd never rise from under it. At last one bigger than the rest struck us and stove in a portion of the deck. We had all we could do to keep the ship's head in the right direction, and the pumps must be manned at once, so that we couldn't spare men to repair the deck, and they couldn't repair it in such a storm anyway. The best we could do was to cover the gap with a sail, but the next big wave that came shoved the canvas down like tissue paper.

"There was such an uproar among the passengers that the cap'n told me to go down into the cabin and try to quiet 'em. As soon as I left the companionway I saw the most terrible sight imaginable. Some of 'em were praying, some holding on to stanchions, white as ghosts, while the water, knee deep, swashed with the rolling of the ship. Some of 'em had got up on to the table that ran the length of the cabin to escape the water.

"The first single person I saw was the girl with the bonny brown hair. She was helping an old woman to keep from being dashed against things when the ship lurched. As soon as she saw me she beckoned me to come to her and said:

"These people are in the condition of children, and, having taught children, I know how important it is to keep their minds occupied. Can't we find something to turn their attention?'