There was a fine mockery in his tone that put the Story Girl on
her mettle instantly. She sprang to her feet, an amazing change
coming over her. Her eyes flashed and burned; crimson spots
glowed in her cheeks.

"I shall tell you the story of the Sherman girls, and how Betty
Sherman won a husband," she said.

We gasped. Was the Story Girl crazy? Or had she forgotten that
Betty Sherman was Mr. Campbell's own great-grandmother, and that
her method of winning a husband was not exactly in accordance
with maidenly traditions.

But Mr. Campbell chuckled again.

"An excellent test," he said. "If you can amuse ME with that
story you must be a wonder. I've heard it so often that it has
no more interest for me than the alphabet."

"One cold winter day, eighty years ago," began the Story Girl
without further parley, "Donald Fraser was sitting by the window
of his new house, playing his fiddle for company, and looking out
over the white, frozen bay before his door. It was bitter,
bitter cold, and a storm was brewing. But, storm, or no storm,
Donald meant to go over the bay that evening to see Nancy
Sherman. He was thinking of her as he played 'Annie Laurie,' for
Nancy was more beautiful than the lady of the song. 'Her face,
it is the fairest that e'er the sun shone on,' hummed Donald--and
oh, he thought so, too! He did not know whether Nancy cared for