s were overshadowing he could not help uttering little
trills of melody. After a time he would fly away; but he left a note of
gladness in John's heart that stayed there all day.

The bird did not seem in the least disturbed by the talk on the terrace.
If the sound of the voices reached him at all it must have been as a low
murmur, and perhaps he liked it. The family now timed their visits to
the summer-house, when they were able to go there, by the red thrush;
and he seldom disappointed them. It so happened, however, one morning
when they were all there, that the lilacs gave forth no sound. They
waited for the accustomed music, and a hush fell upon them. They were
silent for some time, and then the Old Professor spoke:

"I see John Gayther below the terrace. Can't we have a story, if we
cannot have a song?"

John was called up at once, and the Next Neighbor accosted him gayly:
"If you had known that I am going to tell a story you would have walked
faster."

John answered her with a pleasant smile. He liked the Next Neighbor. He
liked the kind of mind she had, for it was thoroughly imbued with an
anxious desire to do her duty in this world in the manner in which that
duty showed itself to her. He liked her because she was fond of the
Daughter of the House. He liked her because she considered her husband
to be the handsomest, best, and cleverest man in the world. Perhaps John
would have liked this trait best of all if he had not clearly seen that
she held in reserve an opinion that this husband would move on a still
higher plane if he would place more value on her opinions and
statements.

"This is the first time you have favored us," he said courteously.

"Well," she said, "I knew the time would come when I would be called
upon, and I could tell many a story about things that have happened to
me. I am not exactly the heroine of this tale, but I am intimately
concerned in its happenings, and shall tell it in my own way.

"Before I was married I used to feel that all we have to do in this
world is to grow up like grass or clover-blossoms, and to perform our
parts by being just as green or as sweet-smelling as our natures allow.
But I do not think that way now. Along comes a cow, and our careers are
ended. Of course we cannot get out of the way of our fate any more than
grass can get out of the way of a cow; but it often happens that we can
accommodate ourselves to our misfortunes. We can be content to being
nibble