s plans for the future took dignity, and importance, from the fact of
his success, and he reviewed with joy the hard labour of the winter, for
which in all he had been paid one hundred dollars. He was in need of
everything new, from shoes up. He was a great dandy, or would have liked
to have afforded to be. As for a spring overcoat--well, he couldn't bear
to read the tempting advertisements, and even Gardiner's microscopic
coat, chosen by Bella, caused his big cousin a twinge of envy. Bella's
new outfit was complete, a deeper colour glowed on the robin-red dress
she wore, and Fairfax felt shabby between them as he limped along into
the Park under the budding trees, a child's hand on either arm.

"Cousin Antony, why are there such _de_licious smells to-day?"

Bella sniffed them. The spring was at work under the turf, the grass was
as fragrant as a bouquet.

"Breathe it in, Cousin Antony! It makes you wish to do _heaps_ of things
you oughtn't to!"

On the pond the little craft of the school children flew about like
butterflies, the sun on the miniature sails.

"What kind of things does the grass cutter, shearing off a few miserable
dandelions, make you want to do, Bella? You should smell the jasmine
and the oleanders of New Orleans. These are nothing but weeds."

"How can you say so?" she exclaimed; "besides, most of the things I want
to do are wicked, anyhow."

"Jove!" exclaimed Fairfax. "That _is_ a confession."

She corrected. "You ought not to say 'Jove' like that, Cousin Antony.
You can cut it and make it sound like 'Jovah,' it sounds just like it."

"What wicked things do you want to do, Bella?"

She pointed to the merry-go-rounds, where the giraffes, elephants, and
horses raced madly round to the plaintive tune of "Annie Laurie," ground
out by a hurdy-gurdy.

"I'd _love_ to go on."

Fairfax put his hand in his pocket, but she pulled it back.

"No, Cousin Antony, please. It's not the money that keeps me back,
though I haven't any. It's Sunday, you know."

"Oh," her cousin accepted dismally.

And Bella indicated a small boy carrying a tray of sweets who had
advanced towards the three with a hopeful grin.

"I'd perfectly _love_ to have some of those _lossingers_, but mother
says 'street candy isn't pure.' Besides, it's Sunday."

"Nonsense!" exclaimed Fairfax. "Do you mean to say that out here in
God's free air you are going to preach me a sermon?"

He beckoned the boy.

"Oh," cried Gardiner, "ca