ogether for upwards of thirty years, and never had
one single quarrel, but oddly enough, when the rare inharmonious
moments came, these groups of trees bridged the fleeting difference
of opinion or any slight antagonism of will and purpose; when these
unresponsive moments came, one or the other would begin to admire
those forest giants, to suggest improvements, to repeat the
admiration of others for their graceful outlines--to, in fact,
direct thought and conversation into the common channel of love
for those trees. This peculiarity was noticeable to outsiders, to
their own circle, to their children. At mere mention of the trees
the shadow of coming cloud would lessen, then waste, then grow
invisible. Their mutual love for these voiceless yet voiceful and
kingly creations was as the love of children for a flower--simple,
nameless, beautiful and powerful beyond words.

That first home night, as she stepped within doors, there awaited
two inexpressible surprises for her. First, on the dining-room
table a silver tea service of seven pieces, imported from
England--his wedding gift to her. Second, in the quaint little
drawing-room stood a piano. In the "early fifties" this latter
was indeed a luxury, even in city homes. She uttered a little cry
of delight, and flinging herself before the instrument, ran her
fingers over the keys, and broke into his favorite song, "Oft in
the Stilly Night." She had a beautiful voice, the possession of
which would have made her renowned had opportunity afforded its
cultivation. She had "picked up" music and read it remarkably well,
and he, Indian wise, was passionately fond of melody. So they
laughed and loved together over this new luxurious toy, until
Milly, the ancient Mohawk maid, tapped softly at the drawing-room
and bade them come to tea. With that first meal in her new home,
the darkened hours and days and years smothered their haunting
voices. She had "left yesterday behind her," as the major's royal
wife had wished her to, and for the first time in all her checkered
and neglected life she laughed with the gladness of a bird at song,
flung her past behind her, and the grim unhappiness of her former
life left her forever.

* * * * *

It was a golden morning in July when the doctor stood grasping
George Mansion's slender hands, searching into his dusky, anxious
eyes, and saying with ringing cheeriness, "Chief, I congratulate
you. You've got the most be