silk and lace were a trifle rusty.

"Never mind, mother, we will buy you a bonnet 'as is a bonnet' before we
come back," the man said as he kissed the happy, shining face.

The steamers which ply between Detroit and Port Huron and Sarnia are big
and sumptuous, and upon them one sits under awnings in midsummer, and
if knowing, takes much delight in the wonderful scenery passed. The St.
Clair River pours into St. Clair Lake, and Lake St. Clair is one of the
great idling places of those upon this continent who can afford to idle.
It is a shallow lake, upon the American side stretching out into what
are known as the "Flats," a vast area of wild rice with deep blue
waterways through them, the haunt of the pickerel and black bass and of
duck and wild geese. Upon the Canadian side, the Thames River comes
through the lowlands, a deep and reed-fringed stream to contribute to
the lake's pure waters. It was upon the banks of this stream, a little
way from the lake, that the great Indian, Tecumseh, fought his last
fight and died as a warrior should. There is nothing that is not
beautiful on the waterway from Lake Huron to Lake St. Clair. It is just
the place in which to realize how good the world is. It is just the
place for lovers. So Jack, the man who had fallen in love, and his
gray-haired sweetheart were vastly content as the steamer bore them
toward Detroit.

The man looked upon the woman in a cherishing mood as she sat beside him
in a comfortable chair. He noted again the gray hair, thinner than it
was once, and thought of the time when he, a thoughtless boy, wondered
at its mass and darkness. He compared the pale, aquiline features with
the beauty of the woman who, centuries ago it seemed, was accustomed to
take him in her lap and cuddle him and make him brave when childish
misadventures came. A greater wave of love than ever came over him. He
regretted the lost years when he might have made her happier, might have
given her a greater realization of what she had done in the world with
her firm example, in a new country, and the strong brood she had borne
and suffered for. And he had manhood enough and a sudden impulse to tell
her all about it. She listened, but said nothing, and clasped his hand.
Mothers will cry sometimes.

The city was reached, and there was a proper luncheon, and then the
arbitrary son dragged his sweetheart out upon the street with him. The
first thing, the matter of great importance, was the bonnet,