him an idea of how I look even though it is a poor likeness. I
do wonder if he will like it!"

And with a roguish smile Adele would answer: "I think so, Bee."

The days passed. With more than her usual impatience Bee waited for an
answer to her letter. If the connections were prompt, if he were not
away from civilization on an extended butterfly hunt, if he wrote just
as soon as he received it, she ought to hear by the last of May, she
told herself; so, having arrived at this conclusion, she tried to rest
in patience until that time should come.

At length the timid beauties of April were merged into the exuberance of
the leaf and flower of May, and Nature was resplendent in the full glory
of the springtide. The last day of the month fell upon a Saturday, and
early in the morning of that day Bee dressed herself to go into town for
the mail. Seating herself upon the steps of the piazza to wait for Adele
who was to accompany her she feasted her eyes upon the beauty of the
orchard whose trees seemed like great pink and white bouquets set in the
ground. Suddenly a puff of wind stirred the branches, and sent the
petals of the apple blossoms flying in every direction.

"Dear me!" exclaimed the girl springing up from the steps in pretended
dismay as a shower of the fragrant blooms deluged her. "Snow in May! I
told Adele that it would be Christmas before she was ready. Come out,
and see the storm, Aunt Annie."

A lady standing just inside a long French window which opened upon the
porch came through it to her niece's side.

"What an idea!" she said in a clear musical voice.

"Get the broom, Bee, and sweep off the steps. I shall be glad when the
blossoms are gone. They make such a litter."

"Why, Aunt Annie, glad when the blossoms are gone? You can't mean it.
Just look at those trees! Did you ever see anything so pretty?"

"They are pretty enough, child," returned Mrs. Raymond carelessly.
"There! cease your rhapsodies, and get the broom. When you have seen as
many Springs as I have you won't be quite so ecstatic over them."

"I believe that I'll always feel just as I do now," declared Bee as she
ran for the broom. "When the trees begin to bud something gets into my
being that makes me feel like--like--Oh, like Alexander the Great: that
I could conquer the world."

"It's the wine of youth in your blood, Bee." The lady smiled at the
girl's enthusiasm. "That's what it is to be young. You are very like
your father."