paniment of the mandolin.

"Golden Summer's in the land!
Hark! Her call soars high and sweet.
Hedge-rows flow'r at her command;
Roses spring beneath her feet.
Skies grow azure; life beats strong;
Nature listens to adore;
Thrilling at the siren's song,
Yields her wond'rous treasured store.
Precious fabrics of her loom
Clothe her darling of the year;
Wealth of sunshine; breath of bloom;
Cloudless days, so fair, so dear.

"Golden Summer's voice is stilled--
Autumn chants a requiem low.
Gone the days with rapture filled.
Life's a-throbbing, sad and slow.
Skies grow hazy; sunshine wanes,
Vivid green fast turns to brown;
Here and there along the lanes,
Flames the sumac's lonely crown.
Sings the voice of Mem'ry now,
'Cleave to Love--lest it depart;
Bind remembrance on thy brow,
Cherish Summer in thy heart.'"

"I don't like that song at all." As the last haunting cadence died away,
the dumb man came into energetic speech.

"Why not, Hippy? I think it is beautiful." Grace turned surprised eyes
on the stout protestant.

"It gives me the creeps," he declared shortly and with unmistakable
earnestness. "The first verse is all very nice. Summer is a golden time,
etc. But why remind us that fall is coming?" He had now resumed his old,
bantering tone. "I prefer to have summer three hundred and sixty-five
days in the year. I don't like murky skies, worn-out grass, skeleton
hedge-rows, muddy lanes, lonesome sumacs and cold winds. As for winter,
lead me away from it. I absolutely refuse to carry summer about in so
useful an organ as my heart, when it's ten below zero and the water
pipes are all frozen up."

"That is because you have no sentiment," challenged Reddy. Whereupon the
divine power of song was at once swallowed up in a fresh burst of
argument as futile as it was laughable. It was ended by tactful Anne,
who was always supremely useful when called upon to arbitrate such
important matters. The relative merits of "Golden Summer" having been
successfully decided and laid to rest, Nora again lifted up her voice in
a selection infinitely more to her liege lord's liking. Then followed an
old-fashioned song in which every one took part, filling the quiet
moonlit night with sweetest harmony.

"It's half-past ten, children," reminded David, as striking a match he
consulted his watch. "Anne, Jessica, Redd