ith tears in his eyes, and begged me to whip
him then. I didn't, though, and told him I wouldn't until he disobeyed
again. He has been the most obedient boy in the school ever since. There
is one little girl who has won my heart, though, in the oddest way you
can imagine. The day I received your letter, Bert, I was so happy that
the school ran riot, and I never knew it. They must have seen it in my
face, I think. Well, when school was out, this girl, a shy little body
of ten, sidled up to my desk and said, 'Pleath may I kith you, teacher,
'fore I go home?' It was such an odd and pretty bit of feeling, it
nearly brought tears to my eyes."

"I should like to give that little girl a box of candy, Miss Page,"
observed Frank, "and then ask her for a kiss myself."

For an hour Alice kept both the young men interested in her anecdotes of
school-teaching, and then her brother said:

"Come, sis, you must sing some, or no box to-night!"

"Well," she replied, smiling, "what shall it be? a few gems from Moody
and Sankey, or from 'Laurel Leaves'?" And then turning to Frank she
added: "My brother just dotes on church music!"

"Alice," said her brother with mock sternness, "if you fib like that you
know the penalty!"

"Do you play or sing, Mr. Nason?" she inquired, not heeding her brother.

"I do not know one note from another," he answered.

"Well, that is fortunate for me," she said; "I only sing a few
old-fashioned ballads, and help out at church."

Then without further apology she went to the piano. "Come, Bertie," she
said, "you must help me, and we will go through the College Songs." And
go through them they did, beginning with "Clementine" and ending with
"The Quilting Party."

"Now, sis," said her brother, "I want 'Old Folks at Home,' 'Annie
Laurie,' 'Rock-a-bye,' and 'Ben Bolt,' and then I'll open the box."

It was a simple, old-fashioned home parlor entertainment, and no doubt
most musical artists would have sneered at the programme, but Alice had
a wonderfully sweet and sympathetic soprano voice, and as Frank sat
watching the fitful flames play hide-and-seek in the open fire, and
listened to those time-worn ballads, it seemed to him he had never heard
singing quite so sweet. Much depends upon the time and place, and
perhaps the romance of the open fire sparkling beneath the bank of
evergreen, and making the roses come into the fair singer's cheeks, and
warming the golden sheen of her hair, had much to do with it