takes a little ex'cise."

So Molly took off her cap and apron and, donning a shade hat, stepped
joyfully out in the sunshine with her husband. They followed the little
brook at the foot of the orchard, and climbing the fence, found
themselves once more in the beechwoods. Both of them remembered the walk
they had taken there together more than two years before, and with one
accord they directed their footsteps to the great tree, the father of
the forest, where they had sat on that memorable walk.

"'Of all the beautiful pictures
That hang on Memory's wall,
Is one of a dim, old forest
That seemeth the best of all.'

"Do you remember, Dearest, how you quoted that poem to me when we walked
here before?" asked Edwin, drawing Molly to him.

"Yes, I remember quite well," said Molly. "I also remember what you
said, but I am afraid it will make you conceited if I tell you. It is a
long time to remember something that is not poetry."

"Please tell me. If I ever said anything that was worth remembering that
long, you should encourage me by telling it to me."

"You said: 'A beautiful picture comes to my inward eye, and that is an
old Molly with white hair sitting where you are now, still in the
romantic era, still in the beechwoods; and God willing, I'll be beside
you.' I have thought of those words very often, and when I wasn't
certain that you really cared for me, I would say to myself that you
must have cared then." And Molly blushed.

"Cared for you! I can't see how I ever kept from telling you that day.
It is best as it is. You were too young, but sometimes even now when I
know you are mine, I tremble to think that I might have lost you by
waiting."

"There was never any real danger of that. If you had not cared, I was
determined to be an old maid." And Molly gave a sigh of happiness as she
nestled close to her "teacher."

The quiet and peace of the "Orchard Home" seemed too perfect to be
disturbed even by the uneasy mutterings of distant war clouds. But as
time passed and the chill forebodings and grim shadows of war reached
the most secluded and sacred spots in the world, so they came, too, as
we shall see, into the home and into the life of "Molly Brown of
Kentucky."

THE END

* * * * *

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