lancing around, "do not allude to
it here. We had an adventure shortly after you parted from us."

"An adventure! and no cavalier at your side! If I could but have known!
Was it so serious?" he inquired in a moment, seeing her look grave.

"Ask Miss Stuyvesant;" said she. "I cannot talk about it any more
to-night. Besides the music carries off one's thoughts. It is like a
joyous breeze that whirls away the thistle-down whether it will or no."

He gave her a short quick look grave enough in its way, but responded
with his usual graceful humor, "The thistle-down is too vicious a sprite
to be beguiled away so easily. If I were to give my opinion on the
subject, I should say there was method in its madness. If you have been
brought up in the country, as I suspect from your remark, you must know
that the white floating ball is not as harmless as it would lead you to
imagine. It is a meddlesome nobody, that's what it is, and like some
country gossips I know, launches forth from a pure love of mischief to
establish his prickers in his neighbor's field."

"_His!_ I thought it must be feminine at least to fulfill the conditions
you mention. A male gossip, O fie! I shall never have patience with a
thistle-ball after this."

"Well," laughed he, "I did start with the intention of making it
feminine, but I caught a glimpse of your eyes and lost my courage. I did
what I could," added he with a mirthful glance.

"So do the thistles," cried she. Then while both voices joined in a
merry laugh, she continued, "But where have we strayed? For a moment it
seemed as if we were on the hills at Grotewell; I could almost see the
blue sky."

"And I," said he, with his eyes on her face.

"I am sure the brooks bubbled."

"I distinctly heard a bird singing."

"It was a whippowill."

"But my name is Clarence?"

And here both being young and without a care in the world, they laughed
again. And the crowded perfumed room seemed to freshen as with a whiff
of mountain air.

"You love the country, Miss Fairchild?"

"Yes;" and her smile was the reflection of the summer-lands that arose
before her at the word. "With the right side of my heart do I love the
spot where nature speaks and man is dumb."

"And with the left?"

"I love the place where great men congregate to face their destiny and
control it."

"The latter is the deeper love," said he.

She nodded her head and then said, "I need both to make me happy.
Sometimes as I walk