he brittle blue skies, the crowded little
lanes full of filth and feet and eternal noise. Perhaps there in the
old home he might find eyes that held a bit of the great love he longed
for, a voice that had in it the hint of a caress, the note that would
give him new courage, new hope.

No--he did not know what was the matter with him. All he knew was that
summer was dead and that he had no one in all the world he could call
his very own. He did not know that lying there he was really waiting
for a step and a voice, a step that would stir the leaves with a joyous
rustling, a voice that even on a gray day sounded gay and sunshiny. He
had always liked Nan Ainslee's voice. Lately he had begun to notice
other pleasant things about her. Last night, for instance, he had for
the first time seen her hair, the beauty of her creamy throat and had
really looked down into her laughing, wide eyes and forgotten all the
world for a second or two. And the hand she gave him when she said
good night was warm and full of a strange comfort. He had almost asked
her to stay a while after the others left and sit beside his fire in a
low chair and talk the party over with him.

The world was so still it seemed as if it waited with him. And then it
came--that voice warm and gay.

"Hello--you here again?"

Then something about that head buried on that out-flung arm made her
laugh softly, oddly, and say, "Isn't this a delicious, restful, dozy
day? You'd better sit up and look at those shaggy gray clouds over
yonder. Or are you listening to the little winds sighing out
lullabies? I came here today to hear the world being hushed to sleep."

He heard and his heart jumped queerly. But he didn't raise his head
until he was sure the homesick longing for some one all his own was
gone from his eyes.

She had on a gray dress as soft as wood smoke. He caught flashes of
flame color beneath the gray and at her breast fluttered a knot of
scarlet silk. She looked like somebody's home fire, all fragrant smoke
and golden flame and ruddy coals. Her eyes held the dancing lights,
the visions and her voice had the tender warmth. She was the spirit of
the day and the sight of her comforted his soul and filled his heart
with content.

"I think it is a sad day," he said, "and I have been desperately lonely
for India and my mother and father and all the little brothers and
sisters and playmates that I never had. The only playmates I ever had
wer