d and said, "I want
to say something to you." How full of light his eyes had been as he
looked at her then! Jerry felt them on her still, and a tingle of joy
went pulsing through her whole being. Then the discus had hurtled across
the doorway and Uncle Cornie had come, not knowing that these two would
rather be alone. At least he didn't look as if he knew. And now it was
Uncle Cornie himself who was talking of love.

"You think you are in love with Eugene Wellington," Uncle Cornie
repeated, "but you're not, Jerry. You're only in love with Love. Some
day it may be with Gene, but it's not now. He just comes nearer to what
you've been dreaming about, and so you think you are in love with him.
Jerry, I don't want you to make any mistakes. I've lived a sort of
colorless life"--the man's face was ashy gray as he spoke--"but once in
a while I've thought of what might be in a man's days if things went
right with him and if he went right with himself."

How often the last words came back to Jerry Swaim when she recalled the
events of this evening--"if he went right himself."

"And I don't want any mistakes made that I can help."

Uncle Cornie's other hand closed gently about the little hand that lay
on one of his. How firm and white and shapely it was, and how determined
and fearless the grip it could put on the steering-wheel when the big
Darby car skidded dangerously! And how flat and flabby and yellow and
characterless was the hand that held it close!

"Come on, folks, we are going to the house to have some music," Aunt
Jerry called, as she and Eugene Wellington came across the lawn from the
lily-pond.

Mrs. Darby, sure of the fruition of her plans now, was really becoming
pettishly jealous to-night. A little longer she wanted to hold these two
young people under her absolute dominion. Of course she would always
control them, but when they were promised to each other there would
arise a kingdom within a kingdom which she could never enter. The angry
voice of a warped, misused, and withered youth was in her soul, and the
jealousy of loveless old age was no little fox among her vines to-night.
Let them wait on her a little while. One evening more wouldn't matter.

As the two approached the rose-arbor Jerry's hand touched Uncle Cornie's
cheek in a loving caress--the first she had ever given him.

"I won't forget what you have said, Uncle Cornie," she murmured, softly,
as she rose to join her aunt and Eugene.

The moonl