I am." It was a little glimpse
into the girl's life that interested Albert, and in the light of what he
knew of her history, a pathetic one. Truly she was alone in the world,
and except for the two kindly souls who made a home for her, she had no
one to turn to.

"You will go away to-morrow, I suppose," she said with a faint tone of
regret as they were rowing home. "Father said your boat was coming after
you to-day."

He looked at her a moment, while a slight smile showed beneath his
mustache. "I suppose I shall have to," he answered, "but I should like
to stay here a month. I've not made a sketch of your house, even."

"I wish you would," she said with charming candor, "it is so lonesome
here, and then maybe you would show me a little about painting."

"Could you endure my company every day for a month?" he asked, looking
her full in the face.

"I don't believe you could endure ours," she replied, dropping her eyes,
and then she added quickly, "There is a prayer-meeting to-night at the
Cape; would you like to go?"

"Most certainly," he answered; "I can imagine it will be interesting."

Albert had expected to see the "Gypsy" in the harbor when they returned
that afternoon, but was most happily disappointed. "I hope they will
stay at Bar Harbor a week," he thought. And that evening when Telly
appeared, ready to be escorted to the prayer-meeting, he was certain
that no fairer girl was to be found at Bar Harbor, or anywhere else.

She was dressed in simple white, her masses of sunny hair half
concealed by a thin blue affair of loosely knitted wool, and had a
cluster of wild roses at her throat. It was a new and pleasurable
experience to be walking beside a well-dressed young man whose every
look and word bespoke enjoyment of her society, and she showed it in her
simple, unaffected way. "I am afraid we shall disturb the meeting," she
said with a smile, as they were walking over to the village. "The folks
will be so curious to know who you are they will sing worse than ever.
That's about all they do," she added by way of explanation,--"sing a few
hymns, and Deacon Oaks will make a prayer and Mr. Gates another. They
may call on you to give testimony," she continued, looking at Albert
archly; "will you respond?"

"Hardly," was the reply. "I always respect people's religious feelings,
but I must confess I belong to the great majority of sinners who have
never had a change of heart."

That evening's gathering was a