wharf to the Maison Colomes.

The crispness had gone from Juanita's pink frock, and the cloth
of gold roses were wellnigh petalless, but the hand that she
slipped into his was warm and soft, and the eyes that were
upturned to Mercer's blue ones were shining with admiring tears.
And even Grandpere Colomes, as he brewed on the
Cherokee-rose-covered gallery, a fiery punch for the heroes, was
heard to admit that "some time dose Americain can mos' be lak one
Frenchman."

And we danced at the betrothal supper the next week.





TITEE

It was cold that day. The great sharp north-wind swept out
Elysian Fields Street in blasts that made men shiver, and bent
everything in their track. The skies hung lowering and gloomy;
the usually quiet street was more than deserted, it was dismal.

Titee leaned against one of the brown freight cars for protection
against the shrill norther, and warmed his little chapped hands
at a blaze of chips and dry grass. "Maybe it'll snow," he
muttered, casting a glance at the sky that would have done credit
to a practised seaman. "Then won't I have fun! Ugh, but the
wind blows!"