Kennedy Square). "Mrs. Taft knows him and
used to send him her bacon. He retired rich
some years ago, and now he can sing all day if
he wants to."

It was Oliver's turn to be silent. The tones of
Margaret's voice had hurt him. For some minutes
he made no reply. Then wheeling suddenly he
sprang over a moss-covered trunk that blocked her
path, stepped in front of her, and laid his hand on her
shoulder.

"Not offended, Margaret, are you?" he asked,
looking earnestly into her eyes.

"No--what nonsense! Of course not. Why do
you ask?"

"Well, somehow you spoke as if you were."

"No, I didn't; I only said how dear Mr. Burton
was, and he IS. How silly you are! Come--we will
be late for the camp."

They both walked on in silence, now, he ahead
this time, brushing aside the thick undergrowth that
blocked the path.

The exultant tones in her voice which had hurt
her companion, and which had escaped her unconsciously,