want to be. Oh! I'm so glad I saw him."

Margaret was silent. She was walking ahead, her
staff in her hand; the fallen trunks and heavy under-
brush making it difficult for them to walk abreast.

"Do you think that he never had to work, to be
able to enjoy himself as he does?" she asked over
her shoulder, with a toss of her head.

"Perhaps--but he loved what he was doing."

"No, he didn't--he hated it--hated it all his life."
The tone carried a touch of defiance that was new to
Oliver. He stepped quickly after her, with a sudden
desire to look into her face. Ten minutes, at least,
had passed during which he had seen only the back
of her head.

Margaret heard his step behind her and quickened
her own. Something was disturbing the joyousness
of our young Diana this lovely summer morning.

"What did the old fellow do for a living, Margaret?"
Oliver called, still trying to keep up with
Margaret's springing step.

"Sold lard and provisions, and over the counter,
too," she answered, with a note almost of exultation
in her voice (she was thinking of Mrs. Horn and