taste. However, a minute or two later he seemed to
find one he liked better, for he placed his back against it, removed his
hat, and gazed upwards at the softly murmuring branches. Once more their
whispers made him smile. Sufficient for the day were the difficulties
thereof! That was the way to look at it. Meanwhile, the spring was
young, and the little flowers in the wood were young, and the blue sky
that showed in peeps through the swinging tree-tops looked as young as
any of them, and certainly it was a young and lusty breeze that swayed
them. By Jingo, what excellent company they all were for him!

And then he heard another murmuring sound, coming this time from behind
him. He held his breath and caught the words--

"Ellen! I love you--I love you!"

He peeped round the tree, and for an instant saw them. A most gratifying
tribute to his diplomacy--but devilish disturbing to a young fellow
without a girl! Hurriedly he snapped a twig; he snapped another; he
broke a branch; he whistled, he coughed, he shouted. And then they
looked up, vaguely surprised to find there was another person in the
world.

"Well, Frank," said his father, as they walked back together towards
their inn, "are you not feeling happy now, my boy, eh?"

"Happy!" exclaimed Frank. "I'm stupefied with happiness!"

As Heriot Walkingshaw strode between the spring breeze and the murmuring
pines, his son's arm through his, listening to his gratitude and Ellen's
praises, he too felt happier than ever before in his life. What a lot of
pleasure he had learned how to give. And the way to give it was so
simple once you found it out. Apparently you had merely to get in
sympathy with people, and then do the things which naturally, under
those circumstances, you would both like to be done. There was really
nothing in it at all; still, it was jolly well worth doing.

Only as they neared the inn did a qualm begin to trouble Frank.

"It's deuced rough luck on Andrew, losing that girl," he said suddenly.
"Hang it, it would kill _me_!"

"It's only losing his money that'll ever hurt Andrew," replied his
father cheerfully. "Don't you worry about what he'll say."

Unfortunately, Mr. Walkingshaw forgot that the provision for this happy
marriage was, in fact, coming indirectly from Andrew's pocket. Even the
youngest of us cannot foresee everything, or Heriot would not have been
humming "Gin a laddie kiss a lassie," quite so lightheartedly.

"I must say I funk hav