side with an interrogative
smile.

"It would be a great favor to me," I put in hastily. "I had been
thinking of late I would have to go alone, but if Miss Salome would not
object, I should be pleased to go with her."

"Of course you may," she answered readily. "I love both places very
much, and the sisters are so sweet. Sister Hyacintha is my favorite,--a
dear old nun with the face of a saint. Do you like old-timey, quiet
places, Mr. Stone? St. Rose church is perhaps the oldest building in the
county. St. Catherine's is not half a mile from it, and the sisters
conduct a boarding-school there. Had I been a Catholic, I doubtless
would have received my education at that place."

I quickly assured her that I looked forward with much pleasure to our
little trip, and asked her if we were to go horseback, or in the
carriage.

"Oh, horseback!" she exclaimed, with the delight of a child. "I believe
you are a good horseman," she added archly.

"Only fair," I responded, smiling. "Still I would much prefer to go that
way. I enjoy the exercise so much."

And so it was arranged. I had no dress for this sort of thing, and I
felt a trifle out of place when she joined me on the porch arrayed in a
complete riding habit of black. From her gauntlets to her silver-handled
whip, her attire was complete. I flushed.

"You know I am not accustomed to riding--will you pardon my
appearance?"

"It makes no difference whatever!" She laughed merrily. "The feathers
don't make the bird, and I am perfectly satisfied."

My mount was the same animal I had been used to, and the horse which had
been led out for her was a wiry, dapple-gray mare of impatient blood. I
knew the correct thing to do, and while I feared that I could not
perform the service successfully, I determined to try. So as she walked
towards the fretful mare which a negro was with difficulty restraining,
I stepped forward, doffed my hat, and with "Permit me, Miss Salome," I
bent, and hollowed my hand for the reception of her foot. With the
naturalness and grace of a queen she placed the sole upon my palm, and I
lifted her to the spring as though she had been a feather, and she sank
into the saddle and grasped the reins, which she proceeded to draw taut
with no uncertain hold. With my cheeks burning slightly--I was not used
to waiting upon women--I sought my saddle, and we cantered away.

How well the poet knew when he sang--

"What is so rare as a day in June?"

The bri