was pleased.
Later on, when she was brushing her hair before the mirror and smiling
absently at her reflection, Corona said: "Frances, what is it like to
be as pretty as you are?"

"Nonsense!" said Frances by way of answer.

"It is not nonsense at all. You must know you are very lovely,
Frances. Elliott says you are the most beautiful girl he has ever
seen."

For a girl who has told herself a dozen times that she would never
care again for masculine admiration, Frances experienced a very odd
thrill of delight on hearing that the minister of Windy Meadows
thought her beautiful. She knew he admired her intellect and had
immense respect for what he called her "genius for influencing
people," but she had really believed all along that, if Elliott
Sherwood had been asked, he could not have told whether she was a whit
better looking than Kitty Martin of the Cove, who taught a class in
Sunday school and had round rosy cheeks and a snub nose.

The summer went very quickly. One day Jacky Hart died--drifted out
with the ebb tide, holding Frances's hand. She had loved the patient,
sweet-souled little creature and missed him greatly.

When the time to go home came Frances felt dull. She hated to leave
Windy Meadows and Corona and her dear shore people and Aunt Eleanor
and--and--well, Margaret Ann Peabody.

Elliott Sherwood came up the night before she went away. When
Margaret Ann showed him reverentially in, Frances was sitting in a
halo of sunset light, and the pale, golden chrysanthemums in her hair
shone like stars in the blue-black coils.

Elliott Sherwood had been absent from Windy Meadows for several days.
There was a subdued jubilance in his manner.

"You think I have come to say good-bye, but I haven't," he told her.
"I shall see you again very soon, I hope. I have just received a call
to Castle Street church, and it is my intention to accept. So Corona
and I will be in town this winter."

Frances tried to tell him how glad she was, but only stammered.
Elliott Sherwood came close up to her as she stood by the window in
the fading light, and said--

But on second thoughts I shall not record what he said--or what she
said either. Some things should be left to the imagination.

Why Mr. Cropper Changed His Mind

"Well, Miss Maxwell, how did you get along today?" asked Mr. Baxter
affably, when the new teacher came to the table.

She was a slight, dark girl, rather plain-looking, but with a smart,
energe