alcolm does. It isn't that he says a thing in so many words,
but he has a way of somehow making you feel that he has noticed nice
things about you, and that he is _thinking_ compliments."

"Gee whiz!" exclaimed Rob, in a teasing tone. "Say that again, won't you
please, and say it slowly, so that I can take it all in. Do I get the
thought? To be agreeable one must not say things, but must cultivate an
air of having noticed that you are agreeable, and stand off and think
compliments so hard that you can actually feel them flying through the
air. Is that your idea?"

"Oh, Rob! Stop your teasing."

"Well, that is what you said, or words to that effect. Didn't she,
Betty?"

The brown eyes flashed an amused smile at him. They walked along in
silence for a few minutes, then he said, humbly, but with a twinkle in
his eye which boded mischief: "Well, I'll do the best I can to please
you, Lloyd. I'll watch Malcolm till I get the hang of it, then I'll
stand off and think compliments about your friend till her ears burn and
she is duly impressed. Grandfather is always saying, 'Who does the best
his circumstance allows, does nobly. Angels could do no more.'"

"I wish I had never mentioned the subject," pouted Lloyd, as they walked
on down the frozen pike. "I simply meant to give you a little advice for
yoah own good, and you've gone and made a joke of it. I am suah you'll
say or do something befoah the mawning is ovah that will make Gay think
you are perfectly dreadful."

Rob only laughed in answer, leaving her to infer that she had good
reason for her fears. As they passed the only store which the Valley
boasted, Kitty came rushing out, a bright new tin saucepan dangling at
her side like a drum. It was tied by a piece of twine, and she was
beating a tattoo upon it with a long-handled iron spoon. Keith
followed, his overcoat pockets bulging with parcels.

"Are you playing Santa Claus this early?" cried Betty, as he hurried
across to shake hands with them.

"No; Kitty decided that no social function in the woods was properly a
picnic without a fire and some kind of a mess to cook. So we stopped at
the store, and she's loaded me down with stuff for fudge. Malcolm and
the girls are on ahead in the waiting-room."

"Where's Ranald?" asked Lloyd, as they crossed the railroad track and
walked along the platform toward the door of the station.

"He's gone hunting with John Baylor, the boy he brought home from school
with him," a