too, and she would fix up the old home. Dear old "daddy" should retire
and have everything he wanted: and Aunt Prudence, on sweeping days,
wouldn't mind moving "the trash," as she called her manuscripts. Daddy
wouldn't make her go to bed at ten o'clock then; she would write all
night if she choose; she would have a little room on purpose, and
visitors at Briarsfield would pass by the old rough-cast house and point
it out as Beth Woodburn's home, and--well, this is enough for a sample
of Beth's daydreams. They were very exaggerated, perhaps, and a little
selfish, too; but she was not a fully-developed woman yet, and the years
were to bring sweeter fruit. She had, undoubtedly, the soul of genius,
but genius takes years to unfold itself.

Then a soft expression crossed the face of the dreamer. She leaned
back, her eyes closed and a light smile played about her lips. She was
thinking of one who had encouraged her so earnestly--a tall, slender
youth, with light curly hair, blue eyes and a fair, almost girlish,
face--too fair and delicate for the ideal of most girls: but Beth
admired its paleness and delicate features, and Clarence Mayfair had
come to be often in her thoughts. She remembered quite well when the
Mayfairs had moved into the neighborhood and taken possession of the
fine old manor beside the lake, and she had become friends with the only
daughter, Edith, at school, and then with Clarence. Clarence wrote such
pretty little poems, too. This had been the foundation of their
friendship, and, since their tastes and ambitions were so much alike,
what if--

Her eyes grew brighter, and she almost fancied he was looking down into
her face. Oh, those eyes--hush, maiden heart, be still. She smiled at
the white cloud drifting westward--a little boat-shaped cloud, with two
white figures in it, sailing in the summer blue. The breeze ruffled her