t could be, maybe;"
wistfully.

"Can't I hear about it?"

"Cousin Chilian, why are the parlors always shut up, and why don't you
have people coming and going, and saying bright things, and talking
about the improvements and--and Napoleon and the wars in Europe, and the
new streets and houses, and, oh, ever so many things?"

He looked at the tightly closed shutters. In his father's time there
were visitors, discussions, playing at whist and loo, and little
suppers. She wouldn't care for that, of course. Yet he remembered that
she had been interested in the talks at Boston.

"Why, yes; the rooms could be opened. Only we have grown so at home in
the sitting-room, and you and I in the study."

"At the Dearborns' they keep the house all open and lighted up, as they
do in Boston. And they ask in young people and have plays, and charades,
and funny conundrums----"

Oh, she was young and should have this kind of life. How should he set
about it? He must ask Miss Winn. But he ventured rather timidly, for a
man.

"Would you like--well, some girls in to tea? They ask you so often. And
there is no reason why we should all be hermits."

She sprang up and clasped her arms about his neck.

"Oh, I just should. At first when Cousin Elizabeth went away, and the
lessons were difficult, and it was winter, but now everything seems so
joyous----"

"Why, yes; we must talk to Miss Winn about it, Cynthia," and his voice
dropped to a tender inflection. "I want you to feel this is your home
and you must have all the joy and pleasures of youth. You need never be
afraid. I've been a rather dull old fellow----"

"Oh, you're not old. You're not as old as Cousin Giles, and ever so much
handsomer. The girls at school think," she flushed and paused, "that you
were so good to get me the pony and the pretty wagon." She was going to
say something much more flattering, but delicacy stopped her.

"My dear," he said gravely, "I was glad to make you the gift, but I want
you to know that there is a considerable sum of money of your own, and
your father wished you to enjoy it. Whatever you want and is proper for
you to have, I shall be glad to get, and to do. For I have no little
girl but you."

"Would it be wicked and selfish if I said I was glad?"

The arms tightened a little. How soft they were! And her hair brushed
his cheek. It always seemed to have a delicate subtle perfume.

"No, dear. You and I are curiously alone in the world. I haven