Year: 1865

perfumes on the air, spread out the car
pet of delicate flowers, wrapped the
brown bare hilIsides with a messy man
tie of softest green, threw out the song
of the birds, awakened the hum Of the
insects. called out the murmur of flow
ing waters-gave life.


One golden, glorious day rose up from
its purple couch in the glowing East
and spread its banners of light abroad.
Mat Ward and Agnes had gone out to
find the coy beauty which has shrouded
itself in robes of purple and gray and
dim nists. They gathered the fra
grant flowers of the open spaces which
the yellow sunlight had already kissed
into bloom. A tree lay across their
path, bearing the recent marks of the
axe, not yet discolored by wind or
storm. Sitting unon it Mat wove bud,
blossom and leaf into a howery coronal,
with which he crowned Agnes.


oh, lam Queen of the May, mother,
Queen of the May sang his voice as
he wound the wreath about her head.
'Aggie, dear, you are sweet as the bios
SONS, fair as the day, full of music as
the song all this beauty is singing for
us


He started violently as Ross Latham
came suddenly from among the trees
behind them. He sat down, unmindful
of the shade that darkened Mat Wards
face, and said something about the
beauty of the day, and complimented
Mat on his taste in weaving the wreath.
His presence brought with it some in
tangible something that oppressed, and
after a few sentences dropped here and
there along the moments, they grew
silent, Agnes looking out over the val
leys, the mists nesting in their coverts,
beyond the yellow sunshine, beyond the
brown hills with their green mantles,
into the dim distance. The shade had
fallen upon her eyes, too. from the eyes
of Mat, who sat impati,ntly kicking
the chips lying about him. His face
flushed hotly as he saw that Ross La
than had cut AGNES upon the soft
wood. He sprang up quickly, saying,


4 know where can find any guam
tity of flowers. | will go and find
them. No, you had better stay here,
it is too rough for you,' as she rose to
60 with him. Stay here until l come
back, Latham will take care of you,
and he disappeared in the distance.


The silence still held them after he
was gone, silence that to one heart
seemed to whisper Of desolation. 1t
was broken at last by the question:


Agnes, what is the matter of you
You have been chilly as an ice berg for
days. Are you angry at me 2 and he
leaned over, looking into her face.


The color rushed up like a torrent,
burning her face into crimson. For
answer she said:


DO you remember the chain | gave
you the first evening l met you?
wish to reclaim it, if you please, Mr..
Latham"


The voice quivered with some tremor
Of feeling at first, but strengthened as
it went on.


Certainly remember it; l have
worn it ever since the night you put it
about my throat. Why do you claim
it?'


A deeper flush over brow, cheek and
throat, but no words came.


Tell me, Agnes, what have done 2


will you give me the chain ?


Again the head bent toward her,
dropped as she drew the shining thread
through her fingers, searching for the
clasp; the strong hands reached up
and drew the arms tight ABOUT his neck,
drew the face close up to his and coY-
cred it with passionate kisses.


Forgive me, darling, l know what
you mean, but | do not love her.
love you, dearl y


She struggled to get free, but the
4 arms only cloSad mora TIGHTLY hou+ har