id. And the Doctor came to me as bashful
and--as--well, your own father couldn't have been better to you. So I
just quit, and the Judge got me the job in the Company store and the
Doctor drops in and she--yes, Mag, the Judge's wife comes with the
Doctor sometimes, and now it's been five months to-day since I left the
court reporter's work and I have hardly seen the Judge to speak to him
since. But they all know, I guess, but mamma, and I sometimes think
folks try to talk to her; and that old man Sands comes snooping and
snickering around like an old dog hunting a buried bone, and he's my
job, and I don't know what to do."

Neither did Margaret know what to do, so she let her go and let her
stay, and knew her old friend no more. For Margaret was rising in the
world, and could have no encumbrances; and Miss Mauling disappeared in
South Harvey and that New Year's Eve marked the sad anniversary of the
break in her relations with Mrs. Fenn. And it is all set down here on
this anniversary to show what a jolty journey some of us make as we jog
around the sun, and to show the gentle reader how the proud Mr. Van Dorn
hunts his prey and what splendid romances he enjoys and what a fair
sportsman he is.

But the old year is restless. It has painted the sky of South Harvey
with the smoke of a score of smelter chimneys; it has burned in the drab
of the dejected-looking houses, and it has added a few dozen new ones
for the men and their families who operate the smelter.

Moreover, the old year has run many new, strange things through a little
boy's eyes as he looks sadly into a queer world--a little, black-eyed
boy, while a grand lady with a high head sits on a piano bench beside
the child and plays for him the grand music that was fashionable in her
grand day. The passing year pressed into his little heart all that the
music told him--not of the gray misery of South Harvey, not of the
thousands who are mourning and toiling there, but instead the old year
has whispered to the child the beautiful mystic tales of great souls
doing noble deeds, of heroes who died that men might live and love, of
beauty and of harmony too deep for any words of his that throb in him
and stir depths in his soul to high aspiration. It has all gone through
his ears; for his eyes see little that is beautiful. There is, of
course, the beauty of the homely hours he spends with those who love him
best, hours spent at school and joyous hours spent by the murmuri