great oak trees and talk to their hearts' content.

Their chief resort, however, was the brook which babbled down among the
hills, and flowed into the river between the settlement and the point.
About a mile back the brook was broken by a mass of huge rocks over
which the water poured in torrents during the spring and after every
heavy rain. But in the summer the rocks were bare, and only one great
wreath of water slipped through a narrow crevice, and fell with a roar
and a splash to the level below. Nearby father and daughter liked to
sit in the shade of the trees and listen to the music of the falling
water.

Jean always remembered the last time they were thus together. It was
the final Sunday in August, and a most perfect afternoon. The Colonel
had worked hard during the week and was very tired. He was strangely
silent and depressed as he sat leaning against a rock, gazing off into
space. It was so unlike his usual buoyant, cheery manner that Jean was
quite anxious.

"Is anything the matter, daddy?" she at length asked. "Are you feeling
sick?"

The Colonel started, and a slight forced laugh escaped his lips.

"No, no, not at all," he replied. "Do I look sick?"

"Then you must be worrying about something, daddy," and the girl's
right hand stole sympathetically into his as she spoke.

"Not worrying, dear; only somewhat lost in thought. I have strange