would feel bitterly hurt," he
replied; "remember, they did you the honor of coming up here to visit
you, and Blanch has said to me several times that she hoped you would
visit her this winter."

"I should love to," replied Alice, hesitating, "but--well, I will tell
you what we can do: we will wait until the day before I am to return,
and then we can call there one evening. They need not know how long I
have been in Boston."

Albert looked curiously at his sister. "I think I understand you, sis,"
he observed, "and that is right; but is it not a little rough on Frank?
He has settled down to hard study and sticks to it, and really is an
exemplary young man and a good fellow. I am growing very fond of him,
and should dislike to have you actually offend him."

"I do not want to offend him, by any means," said Alice soberly, "and
neither do I want him or his haughty mother to think I am disposed to
put myself in his way. If he wants to see me, let him come here."

The next day Albert and Alice felt obliged to attend church, as all the
good people of Sandgate usually so observed Thanksgiving day, and he was
gladdened by many a cordial handshake and kindly inquiry from old
friends. Alice as usual sang in the choir, and when the services were
over they returned, to find that Aunt Susan had the honored emblem of
the day well browned and ready for the table. In a way the meal was a
trifle saddened, for in spite of the good cheer, it brought back to all
three recollections of those who would never more be present. And that
evening both brother and sister called on Abby Miles, more to escape
the home mood than to enjoy her society.

When morning and departure came Albert said: "I will do as you wish,
sweet sister, and unless some of the Nasons should meet us at a theatre,
I imagine it will work all right. Only it is a little rough on Frank,
after all."

CHAPTER XXXVIII

THE OLD SONGS

Influenced by time, place, and the earnest pleading of her admirer,
Alice Page had, on that summer afternoon by the mill-pond, stepped a
little from her pedestal of pride. In a way, too, her feelings were
touched, at least enough to give her many an hour's heartache afterwards
while she was resolutely putting the sweet illusion out of her mind. But
no one, not even her brother, knew it, and only Aunt Susan suspected,
and she wisely kept her counsel, hoping that all would come right in the
end.

The proposed change did not seem to d