ur of happiness we forgot that there was ever a storm
cloud to darken the blue heavens, or ever a grief or a sin to mar the
joy of living. We were young, and we were together. Over the valley
swept the sweet tones of the Presbyterian Church bell. Marjie's face,
radiant with light, was lifted to mine.

"I must go to prayer meeting, Phil. I shall see you again--to-morrow?"
She put the question hesitatingly, even longingly.

"Yes, and to-night. Let's go together. I haven't been to prayer meeting
regularly. We lost out on that on the Staked Plains."

"I must run home and comb my hair," she declared; and indeed it was a
little tumbled. But from the night I first saw her, a little girl in her
father's moving-wagon, with her pink sun-bonnet pushed back from her
blowsy curls, her hair, however rebellious, was always a picture.

"Go ahead, little girl. I will run home, too. I forgot something. I will
be down right away."

Going home, I may have walked on Cliff Street, but my head was in the
clouds, and all the songs that the morning-stars sing together--all the
music of the spheres--was playing itself out for me in the shadowy
twilight as I went along.

At the gate Aunt Candace and my father were waiting for me.

"You needn't wait," I cried. "I will be there presently."

"Oh, joined the regular army this time," my father said, smiling. "Sorry
we can't keep you, Phil." But I gave no heed to him.

"Aunt Candace," I said in a low voice. "May I see you just a minute? I
want to get something."

"It's in the top drawer in my room, Phil. The key is in the little tray
on my dresser," Aunt Candace said quietly. She always understood me.

When I reached the Whately home, Marjie was waiting for me at the gate.
I took her little hand in my own strong big one.

"Will you wear it again for me, dearie?" I asked, holding up my mother's
ring before her.

"Always and always, Phil," she murmured.

Isn't it Longfellow who speaks of "the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots
of the angels," blossoming "in the infinite meadows of heaven"? They
were all a-bloom that May night, and dewy and sweet lay the earth
beneath them. We were a little late to prayer meeting. The choir was in
its place and the audience was gathered in the pews. Judge Baronet
always sat near the front, and my place was between him and Aunt Candace
when I wasn't in the choir. Bess Anderson was just finishing a voluntary
as we two went up the aisle together. I hadn't thoug