er hands with pleasure.

"My, but I'm glad!" she cried. "My Phil is a dreamer after all."

"Didn't you know that before, girlie?"

"No! I always hoped--and fancied sometimes--but I know now and I am
ever so glad about it." Her face became solemn.

"Phil,--you won't ever let money, and business, and success steal your
love to dream away from you?"

"I should say not! Did you think I would?"

"Oh,--so many men lose their love for the beautiful things, for
poetry, music, pictures, pretty scenery----"

"And their sweethearts," put in Phil.

"Yes,--sometimes. But more often their wives. They do not lose
their love exactly, but rather they forget to use it in their
over-absorption in business, and it gradually slips away from them
like a child's belief in fairies and in Santa Claus."

Phil started up the car again and they bowled merrily along to the
village of Oyama, the half-way rest between Vernock and Kelowna, at
the division of the two lakes.

"Take Jim now," said Phil, continuing the line of thought, "I'll bet
he believes in sprites, and ghosts, and Santa Claus, right to-day. He
is the kind that never grows away from his boyhood."

"And why should he? His boyhood was doubtless the happiest period of
his life, and he is just staying with it like a wise man."

Eileen sighed.

"Phil,--I wish Jim could get a real, nice sweetheart. Did you ever
hear of him having one?"

"Never!--at least not a real one. Did you?"

"No! He doesn't seem ever to get any further with the young ladies
than mere acquaintance. Yet I know lots--and nice girls, too--who
would be glad to have a man like Jim."

"I guess he is just waiting on ''till the right girl comes along,' as
the poet says. I hope she will prove worthy of him. His kind are so
apt to get fooled at the finish. What shall we do with him when we get
married, Eileen?"

Eileen blushed. "It is a hard problem, but we've just got to mother,
and sister, and brother him until he gets settled."

"If he ever does!"

"If he doesn't, I am going to keep on mothering him--that's all. So it
is up to you, Phil, to find him a real, nice girl."

"No, thanks! It has been a hard job finding one for myself."

"And you are quite satisfied?" she queried again, solemnly.

"Quite!"

"And you'll never grow tired of me?"

"Never! Why, dearie,--how could I?"

"Oh, I don't know! Men do, sometimes. I guess I am just foolish. But,
if I don't measure up, you will promise to be lenien