paid the first of the month. She must work hard and not waste time in
regrets. The summer that meant leisure and pleasure for many, meant only
added cares for her.

A surprising announcement broke in upon these dreary thoughts: "This is
the Forest of Arden!"

The voice was a sweet, girlish one, and came from somewhere behind the
arbor, but the vines grew so thick she could not get a glimpse of the
speaker. Celia went on with her work, feeling at first a little annoyed
that her quiet should be disturbed, yet the suggestion of sylvan joy in
the words grew upon her. The Forest of Arden--where they fleeted the time
carelessly--what a rest for tired spirits it seemed to offer!

"If we will, we may travel always in the Forest, where the birds sing and
the sunlight sifts through the trees--" the same voice repeated. A stir of
wind set the leaves rustling, and Celia lost the rest.

"That means it will all come right in the end."

"The people who hated each other all came to be friends in the Forest."

Fragments like these floated in to Celia. Then she heard Maurice Roberta's
voice saying, "Let's go farther down the slope." She went to the door of
the arbor and looked out. As she had suspected, Maurice's companion was
the girl she had encountered in the cemetery, Rosalind carried her hat in
her hand, and as they crossed an open space the sunshine turned her hair
to gold.

Celia went back to her work. "It will all come right in the end,"--this
was what Morgan had told her yesterday; it was strange that this child
should cross her path again, and with the same message.

"Even people who hated each other came to be friends in the Forest." To
travel always in the Forest! How restful the idea! How would it seem not
to hate anybody? To be really at peace? But it was not possible for her.

Her thoughts would persist in dwelling upon Rosalind Whittredge. Again she
recalled with shame the impulse that made her scorn the rose. She was
glad she had picked it up and carried it home. Why should she have any
feeling against Patterson Whittredge's daughter? Had not her father taken
Patterson's side in the family trouble over his marriage? Ah, but that was
long ago, and it was hard to forget that Rosalind, with her sweet, serious
eyes, was after all Mrs. Whittredge's granddaughter, Genevieve's niece.

"I wish she wasn't, and that I could see her and speak to her, and ask her
what she means by the Forest," she thought. "She is gentle an