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"Well,--yes,--he--he is,--with some."

My silence implied that I knew it, though I did not feel any brighter, happier or cleaner.

"Has he a taste for fiction?" I asked, with a depreciative smirk.

when, just as our last note died among the trees one of us cried, "Listen!" and through the stillness there came from far away on our right the last three measures of a bugle sounding The March.

The aunt and her nieces were standing in the carry-all, she majestic, they laughing and weeping in the one act. I waved them into their seats.

"Such as which?" asked the Yankee, with a twinkle. "There were two kinds."

"No," I replied, with my eagerness to moralize, "no two persons, and above all no one man and one woman, can ever be sure of their duty, or even of their happiness, till they consider at least one third person,--"

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