would not allow her to go there without a grown-up companion.

When she and her big sister reached the river they differed as to the
next step, Dottie desiring to go on into the water, and Sophia deeming
it expedient to go back over the field. As each was in an indolent mood,
they both gave way a little and split the difference by wandering along
the waterside, conversing softly about many things--as to how long it
would take the seed of the four-o'clock to "sail away, away, over the
river," and why a nice brown frog that they came across was not getting
ready for bed like the birdies. There is no such sweet distraction as an
excursion into Children's Land, and Sophia wandered quite away with this
talkative baby, until she found herself suddenly cast out of Dottie's
magic province as she stood beyond the trees that edged the first field
not far from the fence of the Harmon garden. And that which had broken
the spell was the appearance of Alec Trenholme. He came right up to her,
as if he had something of importance to say, but either shyness or a
difficulty in introducing his subject made him hesitate. Something in
his look caused her to ask lightly:

"Have you seen a ghost?"

"Yes."

"Are you in earnest?"

"I am in earnest, and," added he, somewhat dubiously, "I think I am in
my right mind."

He did not say more just then, but looked up and down the road in his
search for someone. In a moment he turned to her, and a current of
amusement seemed to cross his mind and gleamed out of his blue eyes as
he lifted them to hers. "I believe when I saw you I came to you for
protection."

The light from pink tracts of sunset fell brightly upon field and
river, but this couple did not notice it at all.

"There is no bogie so fearful as the unknown," she cried. "You
frightened me, Mr. Trenholme."

"There is no bogie in the case," he said, "nor ghost I suppose; but I
saw someone. I don't know how to tell you; it begins so far back, and I
may alarm you when I tell you that there must be someone in this
neighbourhood of yours who has no right to be here." Then to her eager
listening he told the story that he had once written to his brother, and
added to it the unlooked for experience of the last half-hour. His
relation lacked clearness of construction. Sophia had to make it lucid
by short quick questions here and there.

"I'm no good," he concluded, deprecating his own recital. "Robert has
all the language that's in our fa