line vowed, "I shall always belong to you
as well! Don't make me feel unhappy."

"You don't really feel unhappy," said Monica in her wise way, "because
every morning I can hear you singing to yourself long before you ought
to be awake."

Then her sisters kissed her, and through the golden corn-fields they
walked silently home.

When Pauline was in bed that night her mother lingered after Margaret
and Monica had left her room.

"Are you glad, darling, you are going to give Guy such a charming
birthday present to-morrow?" she asked.

"It's your present," said Pauline, "because I couldn't possibly give
myself unless you wanted me to. You know that, don't you, Mother? You do
know that, don't you?"

"I want you to be my happy Pauline," her mother whispered. "And I think
that with Guy you will be my happy Pauline."

"Oh, Mother, I shall, I shall! I love him so. Mother, what about Father?
He simply won't say anything to me. To-day I helped him with
transplanting, and I've been helping a lot lately ... with the daffodil
bulbs when we came back from Ladingford, and all sorts of things. But he
simply won't say a word."

"Francis is always like that," her mother replied. "Even when he first
was in love with me. Really, he never proposed ... we somehow got
married. I think the best thing will be for you and Guy to go up to his
room after lunch to-morrow, before he goes out in the garden; then you
can show him your ring."

"Oh, Mother, tell me what ring it is that Guy has found for me."

"It's charming ... charming ... charming," said her mother,
enthusiastically.

"Oh, I won't ask, but I'm longing to see it. Mother, what do you think
it will be? Oh, but you know, so I mustn't ask you to guess. Oh, I do
hope Margaret and Monica will like it."

"It's charming ... charming ... and now go to sleep."

Her mother kissed her good night, and when she was gone Pauline took
from under her pillow the crystal ring.

"However nice the new one is," she said, "I shall always love you best,
you secret ring."

Then she got out of bed and took from her desk the manuscript book bound
with a Siennese end-paper of shepherds and shepherdesses and rosy
bowers, that was to be her birthday present to him.

"What poetry will he write in you about me, you funny empty book?" she
asked, and inscribed it--

For Guy with all of his Pauline's love.

The book was left open for the roaming letters to dry themselves without
a smudge, becau