ine, big, steady fellows and little Lockwood is a
fine, big, handsome child.

But my foolish old heart lost itself long ago to a pair of slate-blue eyes
set in an olive face under dark, strong waves of hair, and when into that
large, blonde brood there came a perfect baby Margarita, a slender, dark
thing who flashed the summer twilight sky at one from under her long dark
lashes, I claimed her for mine and mine she is--my Peggy. She is alone
among the others, my precious black swan: her quaint, dreamy thoughts are
not their practical, sunny clear-headedness, her self-peopled, solitary
wanderings are not their merry comradeships, her lovely, statuesque
movements are not their athletic tumbles. She stood to-day at her mother's
knee in just the attitude S----n painted them for me, her eyes clouded with
awe just as the bloom upon her mother's sweeping gown of velvet clouded its
elusive blue, the soft plume upon her bride-maiden's hat leaned against the
rich lace on her mother's breast. How beautiful they were! As I stared at
them and their eyes lighted at the same moment with just the same dear
smile, so that they were more than ever wonderfully alike, I heard a woman
whisper behind me that the gentleman the beautiful Mrs. Bradley and her
picturesque little daughter were smiling at was the child's godfather, an
old friend--all his money left to her and his namesake, her brother. Before
the whisper had ended Margarita the woman had turned her eyes toward her
husband--they could not leave him long that day--but Margarita the child
kept hers on me, and under them the years rolled back and I seemed to see a
grave young girl sitting on the sand in a faded jersey, looking down into
my heart and telling me that I loved her!

How many times since have I not seen her on that beach, cradling her
rosy babies in her strong, smooth arms, murmuring with her graceful
daughters, judging mildly between some claim of her tall, eager sons!
How many summer evenings have I sat with Peggy in my arms and watched
her pace that silvering beach with her husband, hand in hand like
young lovers! I think they forget utterly that Time slips by, he
passes them so gently.

[Illustration: IT IS A FAVOURITE CLAIM OF OURS WHO ARE BIDDEN TO THAT
HOME THAT IT IS AN ENCHANTED ISLE]

It is a favourite claim of ours who are bidden to that home that it is
an enchanted isle, and that he only brushes it with his wings, gliding
over, and turns the scythe away and h