'm staying with the Duncan Moores, and shall be leaving
day after to-morrow. By the way, have you seen Mrs. Kennedy's
collection of steins? It is a remarkably fine one."

Clark Oliver couldn't come to our wedding--or wouldn't. Jane has never
met him since, but she cannot understand why I have such an aversion to
him, especially when he has such a good opinion of me. She says she
thought him charming, and one of the most interesting conversationalists
she ever went out to dinner with.

Robert Turner's Revenge

When Robert Turner came to the green, ferny triangle where the station
road forked to the right and left under the birches, he hesitated as
to which direction he would take. The left led out to the old Turner
homestead, where he had spent his boyhood and where his cousin still
lived; the right led down to the Cove shore where the Jameson property
was situated. Since he had stopped off at Chiswick for the purpose of
looking this property over before foreclosing the mortgage on it he
concluded that he might as well take the Cove road; he could go around
by the shore afterward--he had not forgotten the way even in forty
years--and so on up through the old spruce wood in Alec Martin's
field--if the spruces were there still and the field still Alec
Martin's--to his cousin's place. He would just about have time to make
the round before the early country supper hour. Then a brief visit
with Tom--Tom had always been a good sort of a fellow although
woefully dull and slow-going--and the evening express for Montreal. He
swung with a businesslike stride into the Cove road.

As he went on, however, the stride insensibly slackened into an
unaccustomed saunter. How well he remembered that old road, although
it was forty years since he had last traversed it, a set-lipped boy of
fifteen, cast on the world by the indifference of an uncle. The years
had made surprisingly little difference in it or in the surrounding
scenery. True, the hills and fields and lanes seemed lower and smaller
and narrower than he remembered them; there were some new houses along
the road, and the belt of woods along the back of the farms had become
thinner in most places. But that was all. He had no difficulty in
picking out the old familiar spots. There was the big cherry orchard
on the Milligan place which had been so famous in his boyhood. It was
snow-white with blossoms, as if the trees were possessed of eternal
youth; they had been in blos