w what papa and mamma would
think about it."

I heard the crunching of gravel.

"Don't you folks ever eat?" demanded a familiar voice, and Mr. Harding
bore down upon us. We said nothing.

"Do you know what time it is?" he added, with an impatience which
puzzled me.

"I have not the slightest idea," I truthfully replied.

"Well, it's nearly two o'clock," he declared, looking at his watch.
"I've been looking everywhere for you, Smith, and then I began to be
worried about you," turning to his daughter. "Why, Kid, you've had time
to paint this old stone shack two coats."

"I imagine I'm to blame," I interposed.

"Have you forgotten, Smith, that you have an engagement to play a
foursome with old Tom Morris, Carter and myself this afternoon?" he
said, looking at us rather suspiciously, I thought.

"I have another engagement," I returned, mustering all my courage.

"What's that?"

"I have an engagement with Grace for life, and we wish to know if you
will give your consent to our marriage two weeks from to-day!"

He gazed at us for a moment, a grave look on his rugged and honest face.
He dropped his cane, took our hands in his and said:

"Children, you didn't fool your old dad for one minute! Take her, my
boy, and God bless both of you! Your mother knows it, Grace, and she
sends her blessing."

We almost overcame him with our expressions of gratitude. As we started
back to the hotel he glanced at us and chuckled.

"I suppose you two have not quit eating?" he suggested.

We promptly admitted we were hungry.

"And I presume you will play golf once in a while?"

We assured him that we certainly should.

"Well, suppose we go to the hotel, get a bite to eat and then go out and
play that foursome with old Tom Morris and Carter," he pleaded. "There
is one green out there which is called 'The Garden of Eden,' and I want
to show it to you. You, Grace, and mother and Mrs. Carter can go along
and be the gallery. I'll promise not to say a word or give a hint about
what has happened."

Oh, that happy, happy afternoon on the turf, sand dunes, braes and
greens of Old St. Andrews! The sea gulls circled over our heads, the
foam-flecked surf crooned its song of love, the River Eden wound about
our pathway, and the blue sky smiled down upon us.

"Sweetheart," I said, "there is one confession you have not made to me."

"What is it, Jack?"

"Why did you play so wretchedly that first game in Woodvale?"

Old Tom Morris l