hout East Lancaster.

With a smile upon her lips, the old lady leaned forward, into the
moonlight, glass in hand. The brim of another touched it and the clear
ring of crystal seemed carried afar into the night.

"To your good health, madam."

"And to your prosperity."

"This has been very charming," said the Doctor, as he brushed away the
crumbs, "and now, my dear Miss Iris, may we not hope for a song?"

"Which one?"

"'Annie Laurie,' if you please."

Iris went in, and Margaret made a move to follow her. "Don't go,
mother," said Lynn, "let's stay here."

"I'm afraid Aunt Peace will take cold."

"No, dearie, I have my shawl. Let me be young again, just for to-night,
with no fear of draughts or colds. Midsummer has never hurt anyone,
and, as Doctor Brinkerhoff says, the good fairies are abroad to-night."

The old-fashioned ballad took on new beauty and meaning. Mellowed by the
distance, the girl's deep contralto was surpassingly tender and sweet.
When she came out, the others were silent, with the spell of her song
still upon them.

"A good voice," said Lynn, half to himself. "She should study."

"Iris has had lessons," returned Aunt Peace, with gentle dignity, "and
her voice pleases her friends. What is there beyond that?"

"Fame," said Lynn.

"Fame is the love of the many," Aunt Peace rejoined, "and counts for no
more than the love of the few. The great ones have said it was barren,
and my little girl will be better off here."

As she spoke, she put her arm around Iris, and they went to the house
together. At the steps, there was a pause, and Doctor Brinkerhoff said
good night.

"It has been perfect," said Miss Field, as she gave him her hand. "If
this were to be my last night on earth, I could not ask for more--my
beautiful garden, with the moonlight shining upon it, music, and my best
friends."

The Doctor was touched, and bent low over her hand, pressing it ever so
lightly with his lips. "I thank you, dear madam," he answered, gently,
"for the happiest evening I have ever spent."

"Come again, then," she said, graciously, with a happy little laugh.
"The years stretch fair before us, when one is but seventy-five!"

* * * * *

That night, just at the turn of dawn, Margaret was awakened by a hot
hand upon her face. "Dearie," said Aunt Peace, weakly, "will you come?
I'm almost burning up with fever."

XI

"Sunset and Evening Star"

Doctor Brinkerhoff c