Kilmeny of the Orchard

and the grounds about them, throwing through the bare, budding maples and elms, delicate, evasive etchings of gold and brown on the

tener was only what was in that listener's heart. To the college students who had just been capped and diplomad by "Old Charlie," the grave president of Queenslea, in the presence of an admiring throng of parents and sisters, sweethearts and friends, it sang, perchance, of glad hope and shining success and high achiev

beyond. Eric Marshall and David Baker walked away together. The former had graduated in Arts that day at th

than Eric, as the mere tale of years goes, and a hundred years older in knowledge of the struggles

usly to wonder why all the gifts of fortune should be showered on one individual. He was not only clever and good to look upon, but he possessed that indefinable charm of personality which is quite independent of physical beauty or mental ability. He had steady, grayish-blue eyes, dark chestnut hair with a gl

ueenslea professor, who had a habit of uttering rather mysterious epig

cal twist which became sarcastic, or teasing, or winning, as he willed. His voice was generally as soft and musical as a woman's; but some few

have a national reputation. He was on the staff of the Queenslea Medical College and it

d with high honors from Queenslea Medical College. Mr. Marshall had given him all the help which David's sturdy pride could be induced to accept, and now he insisted on sending the young man abroad for a post-graduate course in London and

should take up the study of law or medicine now that he was through Arts; and he was greatly d

istinction in law-that glib tongue of yours was meant for a lawyer and it is sheer flying in the face of Provi

am going into the business. In the first place, it has been father's cherished desire ever since I was born, and it would hurt him pretty badly if I backed out now. He wishe

e thought you really wanted

through with brain and courage, to manage and control, to aim high and strike one's aim. There, I'm waxing eloquent, so I'd better stop. But ambition, man! Why, I'm full of it-it's bubbling in every pore of me. I mean to make the department store of Marshall & Company famous from ocean to ocean. Father started in life as a poor boy from a Nova Scotian farm. He has built up a business that has a provincial reputation. I mean to carr

possessed our ancestors to run a town up the side of a hill? I'm not so slim and active as I was on MY graduation day ten years ago. By the way, what a lot of co-eds were in your class-twenty, if I counted right. When I graduated there were only two ladies in our class and they were the pioneers of their sex at Queenslea. They were well past their first youth, very grim and a

ered the beauty of her class. I can't say that such is my opinion. I don't greatly care for that blonde, babyish style of loveliness-I prefer Agnes Ca

rly and critically-for someone whispered her name behind me and coupled it with the exceedingly interesting informat

; but if the future Mrs. Eric Marshall exists in the flesh I haven't met her yet. I haven't even started out to look for her-and don't intend to for some years to come. I ha

ure to predict that if fate doesn't bring her before long you'll very soon start out to look for he

likely to leave it behi

an has that there's never any knowing where it will break out, or what dance it will lead him, especially when it comes to this love-making business. You are just as likely as not to lose your head over

is MY opinion, and mine only, which will

and that is why I'll never feel at ease about you until I see you married to the right sort of a girl. She's not hard to f

fairy tale who worried over the future

f people worried a little more about their unborn children-at least, to the extent of providing a proper heritage, physically, mentally, and morally, for them-and then stopped worrying abo

ps to say, "Why don't you get married to a girl of the right sort yourself and set me a good example?" But he checked himself. He knew that there was an old sorrow in David Baker's life which was not to be unduly ja

know something more of the world than you do, and I believe, with Tennyson's Arthur, that 'there's no more subtle master under heaven than is the maiden passion for a maid.' I want to see you safely anchored to the love of some good woman as soon as may be, that's all. I'm rather sorry Miss Campion isn't your lady of

l those conditions. But, as I have said, I am not in love with Agnes Campion-and it would

ith so much your first two years in Qu

ce over in Prince Edward Island. He isn't any too well, poor fellow-never was very strong and has studied remorselessly. I haven't heard from him since February. He said then that he was afraid h

got a lovely throat. Nobody can find out what is the matter. He has puzzled all the doctors.