e joy of
summer; and, then the evenings, when the day's work was done, and the
western sky was all aglow with crimson and gold.

One quiet Sunday evening in harvest time, Martha and Arthur stood
beside the lilac hedge and watched the sun going down behind the
Brandon Hills. Before them stretched the long field of ripening
grain. There was hardly a leaf stirring on the trees over their
heads, but the tall grain rustled and whispered of the abundance of
harvest.

As they listened to the rustling of the wheat Martha said: "I have
been trying to think what it sounds like, but can think of nothing
better than the bursting of soap-bubbles on a tub of water, and
that's a very unpoetical comparison."

"I think it's a very good one, though," Arthur said, absently.

"And it seems to whisper: 'Plenty, plenty, plenty,' as if it would
tell us we need not rush and worry so," she went on. "I love to
listen to it. It has such a contented sound."

Arthur sighed wearily, and looking up, Martha saw his face was sad
with bitter memories.

"What is it, Arthur?" she said, drawing nearer in quick sympathy.

"I'm all right," he answered quickly, but, with an effort; "just a
little bit blue, perhaps."

"How can anyone be blue to-night with everything so beautiful and
full of promise?" Martha cried.

"There are other things--beside these," he said gloomily.

Martha shrank back at his words, for she knew of whom he was
thinking. Then a sudden rage seized her, and she turned and faced him
with a new light burning in her eyes.

"You must forget her!" she cried. "You must! She cares nothing for
you. She, never loved you, or she would not have treated you so
badly. She soon let you go when she got what she thought, was a
better chance. Why do you go on loving her?" She seized his arm and
shook him. "It's foolish, it's weak--why do you do it? I wouldn't
waste a thought on any one who cares nothing for me--it isn't--it
isn't----" she stopped abruptly, and the colour surged into her pale
face.

"Oh, Arthur, forgive me for speaking so." All the anger had gone from
her voice. "I cannot bear to see you so unhappy. Try to forget her.
The world is wide and beautiful."

In the western sky a band of crimson circled the horizon.

"Martha," Arthur said gently, "you are one of the truest friends a
fellow ever had, and I know you think I am foolish and sentimental,
but I am just a little bit upset to-day. I saw her last night--she
and--her husb