ey were discussing something that interested them greatly, and their
merry voices fell pleasantly on the ear. Very pretty both young ladies
looked, crowned with the roses they had been weaving into wreaths. The
grave look which had settled on Mr Green's face, passed away as he
watched their approach.

"Pretty creatures, both of them," remarked he. "Mrs Elliott appears
well, don't she? I never saw any one improve so much as she has done in
the last two years. I used to think her--well not very superior."

"She is a pretty little thing, and good tempered, I think," said Mr
Snow, smiling. "I shouldn't wonder if our folks made something of her,
after all. She is in better keeping than she used to be, I guess."

"She used to be--well, a little of a flirt, and I don't believe she has
forgot all about it yet," said Mr Green, nodding in the direction of
Captain Starr, with a knowing look. The possibility of a married
woman's amusing herself in that way was not among the subjects to which
Mr Snow had given his attention, so he had nothing to say in reply.

"And the other one--she understands a little of it, too, I guess."

"What, Rosie? She is a child. Graeme will teach her better than that.
She despises such things," said Mr Snow, warmly.

"She don't flirt any herself, does she?" asked Mr Green, coolly. "Miss
Elliott, I mean."

Mr Snow turned on him astonished eyes. "I don't know as I understand
what you mean by flirting. I always supposed it was something wrong,
or, at least, something unbecoming in any woman, married or single.
Graeme ain't one of that sort."

Mr Green shrugged his shoulders incredulously. "Oh! as to its being
wrong, and so forth, I don't know. They all do it, I guess, in one way
or other. I don't suppose Miss Graeme would go it so strong as that
little woman, but I guess she knows how."

The voice of Rose prevented Mr Snow's indignant reply.

"But, Arthur, you are not a disinterested judge. Of course you would
admire Fanny's most, and as for Captain Starr, he is--"

"He is like the ass between two bundles of hay."

"Nonsense, Arthur. Fanny, let us ask Mr Snow," said Rose, springing
forward, and slightly bending her head. "Now, Uncle Sampson, which is
prettiest? I'll leave the decision to you."

"Uncle Sampson" was a very pleasant sound in Mr Snow's ears, and never
more so, than when it came from the lips of Rose, and it was with a
loving as well as an admiring look that he a