oves had to be neat and new, and their walking shoes trim and
whole, for the entire little world would be abroad all day and half the
night, in company with the harvest moon and the glittering golden waves,
and all the other gay, bright things of summer.

This was therefore just the most fitting season for Captain Bertram to
come back to Northbury, on wooing intent. More than one girl in the
place rejoiced at his arrival, and Mrs. Bertram so far relaxed her rigid
hold over Catherine and Mabel as to allow them to partake, in company
with their brother and Beatrice Meadowsweet, of a certain portion of the
general merry-making.

Northbury was a remarkably light-hearted little place, but it never had
entered into quite so gay a season as this memorable August when Captain
Bertram came to woo.

It somehow got into the air that this gay young officer had taken his
leave for the express purpose of getting himself a wife. Nobody quite
knew how the little gossiping whisper arose, but arise it did, and great
was the commotion put into the atmosphere, and severe the flutterings it
caused to arise in more than one gentle girl heart.

Catherine and Mabel Bertram were in the highest possible spirits during
this same month of August. Their mother seemed well once more, well, and
gay, and happy. The hard rule of economy, always a depressing
_regime_, had also for the time disappeared. The meals were almost
plentiful, the girls had new dresses, and as they went out a little it
was essential for them in their turn to entertain.

Mrs. Bertram went to some small expense to complete the tennis courts,
and she even endured the sight of the Bells and Jenkinses as they
struggled with the intricacies of the popular game.

She herself took refuge in Mr. Ingram's society. He applauded her
efforts at being sociable, and told her frankly that he was glad she was
changing her mind with regard to the Northbury folk.

"Any society is better than none," he said. "And they really are such
good creatures. Not of course in the matter of finish and outward manner
to compare with the people you are accustomed to, Mrs. Bertram, but--"

"Ah, I know," interrupted Mrs. Bertram in a gay voice. "Rough diamonds
you would call them. But you are mistaken, my dear friend; there is, I
assure you, not a diamond in this motley herd, unless I except Miss
Beatrice."

"I never class Beatrice with the other Northbury people," replied Mr.
Ingram; "there is somethin