"In a cradle, on the treetop,
Sleeps a tiny bird;
Sweeter sound than mother's chirping
Never yet was heard.
See, the green leaves spread like curtains
Round the tiny bed,
While the mother's wings, outstretching,
Shield--the--tiny--head?"

As her voice died slowly into silence, she found Ethel looking over her
shoulder and nodding her head.

"No; I won't tell," she said loudly.

"Tell what?" asked Ruth, amused.

"Hush! He put his finger on his mouf -- sh!"

"Who?" asked Ruth, turning her head hurriedly. Not being able to see
through the tree, she started to her feet, still holding the child.
Between two trees stood the stalwart figure of Dr. Kemp, --Dr. Kemp in
loose, light gray tweeds and white flannel shirt; on the back of his head
was a small, soft felt hat, which he lifted as she turned, --a wave of
color springing to his cheek with the action. As for Ruth, --a woman's
face dare not speak sometimes.

"Did I startle you?" he asked, coming slowly forward, hat in hand, the
golden shafts of the sun falling upon his head and figure.

"Yes," she answered, trying to speak calmly, and failing, dropped into