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the practical duties of every-day life? Perhaps so.

The next day she and May sat talking on the sofa by the window.

"Don't you think, May, I should make a mistake if I married a man who
had no taste for literature and art?"

"Yes, I do. I believe in the old German proverb, 'Let like and like mate
together.'"

Was that a shadow crossed Beth's face?

"But, whatever you do, Beth, don't marry a man who is all moonshine. A
man may be literary in his tastes and yet not be devoted to a literary
life. I think the greatest genius is sometimes silent; but, even when
silent, he inspires others to climb the heights that duty forbade him to
climb himself."

"You've deep thoughts in your little head, May." And Beth bent over, in
lover-like fashion, to kiss the little white hand, but May had dropped
into one of her light-hearted, baby moods, and playfully withdrew it.

"Don't go mooning like that, kissing my dirty little hands! One would
think you had been falling in love."

Beth went for another stroll that evening. She walked past the dear old
house on the hill-top. The shutters were no longer closed; last summer's
flowers were blooming again by the pathway; strange children stopped
their play to look at her as she passed, and there were sounds of mirth
and music within. Yes, that was the old home--home no longer now! There
was her own old window, the white roses drooping about it in the early
dew.

"Oh, papa! papa! look down on your little Beth!" These words were in her
eyes as she lifted them to the evening sky, her tears falling silently.
She was following the old path by the road-side, where she used to go
for the milk every evening, when a firm step startled her.

"Arthur! Good evening. I'm so glad to see you again!"

She looked beautiful for a moment, with the tears hanging from her
lashes, and the smile on her face.

"I called to see you at the parsonage, but you were just going up the
street, so I thought I might be pardoned for coming too."

They were silent for a few moments. It was so like old times to be
walking there together. The early stars shone faintly; but the clouds
were still pink in the west; not a leaf stirred, not a breath; no sound
save a night-bird calling to its mate in the pine-wood yonder, and the
bleat of lambs in the distance. Presently Arthur broke the silence with
sweet, tender words of sorrow for her loss.

"I should have written to you if I had known, but I was sick in the
hosp