smothered with roses, she crept into view, the sunbonnet slipped
back, and the lovely, flushed little face, with tendrils of gold
straying across the white forehead, and mischief gleaming in the
blue, blue eyes was framed only in loosened pale gold hair.

Years afterward Alix remembered her so, as Martin Lloyd helped her
to spring free of the branches, and she stood laughing at their
surprise and still clinging to his hand. "The day we raised the
rose tree" had a place of its own in Alix's memory, as a time of
carefree fun and content, a time of perfume and sunshine--perhaps
the last time of its kind that any one of them was to know.

Cherry looked at Martin daringly as she joined the labourers; her
whole being was thrilling to the excitement of his glance; she was
hardly conscious of what she was doing or saying. Under her
father's direction she tied ropes, presently was placed with her
arms clasped tightly about a great sheaf of vines, ready for the
united tug. Martin came close to her, in the general confusion.

"How's my little sweetheart this morning?"

Cherry looked up, her throat contracted, she looked down again,
unable to speak. She had been waiting for his first word; now that
it had come it seemed so far richer and sweeter than her wildest
dream.

"How can I see you a minute?" Martin murmured, snapping his big
knife shut.

"I have to walk down for the mail--" stammered Cherry, conscious