with which he had been treated; and the respect St. George
showed him--and he only a boy: compelling his older men friends to do
the same. Never letting him feel that any foolish act of his young life
had been criticised, or that any one had ever thought the less of him
because of them.

Breakfast over, during which no allusion was made either to what St.
George had accomplished at the conference of creditors the night before,
or to Harry's early rising--the boy made his way into the park and took
the path he loved. It was autumn, and the mild morning air bespoke an
Indian summer day. Passing beneath the lusty magnolias, which flaunted
here and there their glossy leaves, he paused under one of the big oaks,
whose branches, stripped of most of their foliage, still sheltered a
small, vine-covered arbor where he and Kate had often sat--indeed, it
was within its cool shade that he had first told her of his love. Here
he settled himself on a small wooden bench outside the retreat and gave
his thoughts full rein--not to repine, nor to revive his troubles, which
he meant to put behind him--but to plan out the letter he was to write
Kate. This must be clear and convincing and tell the whole story of his
heart. That he might empty it the better he had chosen this place made
sacred by her presence. Then again, the park was generally deserted at
this hour--the hour between the passing of the men of business and
the coming of the children and nurses--and he would not be
interrupted--certainly not before this arbor--one off by itself and away
from passers-by.

He seated himself on the bench, his eyes overlooking the park. All the
hours he had passed with Kate beneath the wide-spreading trees rose in
his mind; the day they had read aloud to each other, her pretty feet
tucked under her so that the dreadful ants couldn't touch her dainty
stockings; the morning when she was late and he had waited and fumed
stretching minutes into hours in his impatience; that summer night
when the two had hidden behind the big oak so that he could kiss her
good-night and none of the others see.

With these memories stirring, his letter was forgotten, and his head
dropped upon his breast, as if the weight of all he had lost was greater
than he could bear. Grasping his walking-stick the tighter he began
tracing figures in the gravel, his thoughts following each line.
Suddenly his ears caught the sound of a quick step--one he thought
strangely familiar.