man all the more for being delicate. It gives them better opportunities
to display their womanly tenderness. Beth was one of these.

"By the way, I mustn't forget my errand," Clarence exclaimed after a
long chat.

He handed her a dainty little note, an invitation to tea from his sister
Edith. Beth accepted with pleasure. She blushed as he pressed her hand
in farewell, and their eyes met. That look and touch of his went very
deep--deeper than they should have gone, perhaps; but the years will
tell their tale. She watched him going down the hill-side in the
afternoon sunshine, then fell to dreaming again. What if, after all, she
should not always stay alone with daddy? If someone else should
come--And she began to picture another study where she should not have
to write alone, but there should be two desks by the broad windows
looking out on the lake, and somebody should--

"Beth! Beth! come and set the tea-table. My hands is full with them
cherries."

Beth's dream was a little rudely broken by Mrs. Martin's voice, but she
complacently rose and went into the house.

Mrs. Martin was a small grey-haired woman, very old-fashioned; a prim,
good old soul, a little sharp-tongued, a relic of bygone days of
Canadian life. She had been Dr. Woodburn's housekeeper ever since Beth
could remember, and they had always called her "Aunt Prudence."

"What did that gander-shanks of a Mayfair want?" asked the old lady with
a funny smile, as Beth was bustling about.