casion of worship, however attractive."

"Well, I suppose you know," said Charlotte, softly, as if positive
acceptance of this proposition might be dangerous. "But I am afraid I
shall be late."

"I hope you will have a pleasant sermon," said the young man.

"Oh, Mr. Gilman is always pleasant," Charlotte answered. And she went on
her way.

Mr. Brand went into the garden, where Gertrude, hearing the gate close
behind him, turned and looked at him. For a moment she watched him
coming; then she turned away. But almost immediately she corrected this
movement, and stood still, facing him. He took off his hat and wiped his
forehead as he approached. Then he put on his hat again and held out his
hand. His hat being removed, you would have perceived that his forehead
was very large and smooth, and his hair abundant but rather colorless.
His nose was too large, and his mouth and eyes were too small; but for
all this he was, as I have said, a young man of striking appearance. The
expression of his little clean-colored blue eyes was irresistibly gentle
and serious; he looked, as the phrase is, as good as gold. The young
girl, standing in the garden path, glanced, as he came up, at his thread
gloves.

"I hoped you were going to church," he said. "I wanted to walk with
you."

"I am very much obliged to you," Gertrude answered. "I am not going to
church."

She had shaken hands with him; he held her hand a moment. "Have you any
special reason for not going?"

"Yes, Mr. Brand," said the young girl.

"May I ask what it is?"

She looked at him smiling; and in her smile, as I have intimated, there
was a certain dullness. But mingled with this dullness was something
sweet and suggestive. "Because the sky is so blue!" she said.

He looked at the sky, which was magnificent, and then said, smiling too,
"I have heard of young ladies staying at home for bad weather, but
never for good. Your sister, whom I met at the gate, tells me you are
depressed," he added.

"Depressed? I am never depressed."

"Oh, surely, sometimes," replied Mr. Brand, as if he thought this a
regrettable account of one's self.

"I am never depressed," Gertrude repeated. "But I am sometimes wicked.
When I am wicked I am in high spirits. I was wicked just now to my
sister."

"What did you do to her?"

"I said things that puzzled her--on purpose."

"Why did you do that, Miss Gertrude?" asked the young man.

She began to smile again. "Because the sky is