uld "the rosy cloud" have reference which should bring such conscious
color to Sylvia's softly rounded cheek?

Miss Lacey shook her head. "If I only had Thinkright's chance," she
thought, "I'd find out; but men are so queer. Probably he won't make
the least effort. Provoking!"

She was correct in her suspicion. Thinkright did not ask any questions.
He suspected that the judge's interview with his niece might have
brought to light some of her new ideas, and he knew the judge's opinion
of all that class of thought which he termed transcendental; but
however ironical might be the reference in the boat's name, he would
not have gone to the trouble of having it lettered thereon without a
kindly intent.

Thinkright was satisfied, and contented himself with building a small
boathouse on the waterside for Sylvia's new possession. She was his
constant companion during the work, and sat beside him on the grass
while he sawed and hammered, waiting upon him whenever opportunity
offered.

He missed an eagerness of enthusiasm which he would have expected in
the girl regarding the handsome boat. He could not know how fervently
she wished that Uncle Calvin had given her instead the money it had
cost. She could not express this thought to her cousin for obvious
reasons; but as she sat beside him on an old log she built air castles
that grew faster than the little boathouse.

"There isn't anything too good to be true, is there, Thinkright?" she
said to him during a pause one day.

He came over and took a seat beside her, wiping his lined brow with his
handkerchief.

She looked at him wistfully. "I'm expecting something very good to
happen to me," she added.

"That's right; and something has. How about The Rosy Cloud?"

She sighed, and leaned her head against her companion's blue cotton
shoulder.

"It's beautiful. I shall have all sorts of fine times with it. Think of
throwing a lot of cushions inside, and taking a good story, then rowing
out into the middle of the basin to float and read. All the trees would
be leaning forward and beckoning, and I shouldn't know which The Rosy
Cloud would favor."

Thinkright clasped his knee. "The Tide Mill would do its share of
beckoning, remember. Look out for the current."

"The poor old thing!" remarked Sylvia. "Sometimes the mill looks so
dignified and pathetic that I sympathize with it, and then again it
seems just sulky and obstinate."

"We're very apt to read our feelings into t