ire
to the beach or the boat and dry themselves with the soft damask of the
sun.

Ruth was happy. There were moments when the remembrance of her
last meeting with Louis came like a summer cloud over the ineffable
brightness of her sky, and she felt a sharp pang at her heart; still,
she thought, it was different with Louis. His feeling for her could not
be so strong as to make him suffer poignantly over her refusal. She
was almost convinced that he had asked her more from a whim of
good-fellowship, a sudden desire, perhaps a preference for her close
companionship when he did marry, than from any deeper emotion. In
consequence of these reflections her musings were not so sad as they
might otherwise have been.

Her parents laughed to see how she revelled in the freedom of the
old-fashioned little spot, which, though on the river, was decidedly
"out of the swim." It was late in the season, and there were few guests
at the hotel. The Levices occupied one of the cottages, the other being
used by a pair of belated turtle-doves,--the wife a blushing dot of a
woman, the husband an overgrown youth who bent over her in their walks
like a devoted weeping-willow; there was a young man with a consumptive
cough, a natty little stenographer off on a solitary vacation, and the
golden-haired Tyrrell family, little and big, for Papa Tyrrell could
not enjoy his hard-earned rest without one and all. They were such a
refined, happy, sweet family, for all their pinched circumstances, that
the Levices were attracted to them at once. To be with Mrs. Tyrrell
one whole day, Mrs. Levice said was a liberal education,--so bright, so
uncomplaining, so ambitious for her children was she, and such a help
and inspiration to her hard-worked husband. Mr. Levice tramped about
the woods with Tyrrell and brier-wood pipes, and appreciated the moral
bravery of a man who struggled on with a happy face and small hope for
any earthly rest. But the children!--Floy with her dreamy face and busy
sketch-book, Will with his halo of golden hair, his manly figure and
broad, open ambitions, Boss with his busy step and fishing-tackle, and
baby Ethel, the wee darling, who ran after Ruth the first time she saw
her and begged her to come and play with her; ever since, she formed
a part of the drapery of Ruth's skirt or a rather cumbersome necklace
about her neck. Every girl who has been debarred the blessing of babies
in the house loves them promiscuously and passionately.