and spring and young morning. Overhead the sky was a
vast high-sprung arch of unstained crystal. Down over the sand dunes,
where the pond ran out into the sea, was a great arc of primrose
smitten through with auroral crimsonings. Beneath it the pond waters
shimmered with a hundred fairy hues, but just before him they were
clear as a flawless mirror. The fields around him glistened with dews,
and a little wandering wind, blowing lightly from some bourne in the
hills, strayed down over the slopes, bringing with it an unimaginable
odour and freshness, and fluttered over the pond, leaving a little
path of dancing silver ripples across the mirror-glory of the water.
Birds were singing in the beech woods over on Orchard Knob Farm,
answering to each other from shore to shore, until the very air was
tremulous with the elfin music of this wonderful midsummer dawn.

"I will get up at sunrise every morning of my life hereafter,"
exclaimed Murray rapturously, not meaning a syllable of it, but
devoutly believing he did.

Just as the fiery disc of the sun peered over the sand dunes Murray
heard music that was not of the birds. It was a girl's voice singing
beyond the maples to his left--a clear sweet voice, blithely trilling
out the old-fashioned song, "Five O'Clock in the Morning."

"Mrs. Palmer's niece!"

Murray sprang to his feet and tiptoed cautiously through the maples.
He had heard so much from Mrs. Palmer about her niece that he felt
reasonably well acquainted with her. Moreover, Mrs. Palmer had assured
him that Mollie was a very pretty girl. Now a pretty girl milking cows
at sunrise in the meadows sounded well.

Mrs. Palmer had not over-rated her niece's beauty. Murray said so to
himself with a little whistle of amazement as he leaned unseen on the
pasture fence and looked at the girl who was milking a placid Jersey
less than ten yards away from him. Murray's artistic instinct
responded to the whole scene with a thrill of satisfaction.

He could see only her profile, but that was perfect, and the colouring
of the oval cheek and the beautiful curve of the chin were something
to adore. Her hair, ruffled into lovable little ringlets by the
morning wind, was coiled in glistening chestnut masses high on her
bare head, and her arms, bare to the elbow, were as white as marble.
Presently she began to sing again, and this time Murray joined in. She
half rose from her milking stool and cast a startled glance at the
maples. Then