future projects.

The more Gertrude meditated upon her father's plan, the more dissatisfied
with herself she became. The idea of going to Europe and leaving George
behind was unendurable. He needed rest more than she. True, he was to
follow later, but she wanted him to cross the ocean on the same steamer,
and she earnestly desired that the one she loved best should share all of
her enjoyments. It was, perhaps, a test of her love that she constantly
longed to lose herself in him, or better, possibly, to find herself in
him.

Two days before the date fixed for their sailing, as George left the
Harris home, Gertrude was urging him to accompany her and her father,
when he ventured to say, "Gertrude, this is what would please me
immensely, take my sister May with you. I will gladly pay her expenses.
And when your summer's travel is over, I want May to study music abroad."

"Capital!" said Gertrude. "Both you and your sister May shall join our
party. Please don't say another word on the subject, nor tell father,
till we meet tomorrow evening," and she kissed him an affectionate
good-night.

The next evening before the stars shone; Gertrude sat on the piazza
anxiously awaiting him, for she had good news for her lover. Gertrude's
white handkerchief told him that she recognized his coming, though he was
still two blocks away. How light and swift the steps of a lover; though
miles intervene, they seem but a step. An evening in Gertrude's presence
was for George but a moment. The touch of her hand, the rustle of her
dress, and the music of her voice, all, like invisible silken cords, held
him a willing prisoner. The love he gave and the love he received was
like the mating of birds; like the meeting of long separated and finally
united souls.

"George, this is your birthday and the silver crescent moon is filled to
the brim with happiness for you and May. Yesterday I had a long talk with
father, and I asked him to let me stay at home and to take your sister
May to Europe. What do you think he said, George? Never did my father so
correctly read my heart. He drew me closely to him, and while I sat upon
his knee, said: 'Daughter, I have decided that it is wise, even in the
interests of my business, to take George with us.' He also said that I
might invite your sister May to go, and that he would pay all the
expenses. Oh, how I kissed him! I never loved my father so much before.
Here, George, is a kiss for you. Aren't you glad n