have not heard you play for so long, Rosin, except just when you
called me."

"Yes, Mr. De Arthenay," said Miss Vesta. "do play a little for us,
while I get supper. Suppose I bring the table out here, Melody; how
would you like that?"

"Oh, so much!" cried the child, clapping her hands. "So very much! Let
me help!"

She started up; and while the fiddler played, old sweet melodies, such
as Miss Rejoice loved, there was a pleasant, subdued bustle of coming
and going, clinking and rustling, as the little table was brought out
and set in the vine-wreathed porch, the snowy cloth laid, and the
simple feast set forth. There were wild strawberries, fresh and
glowing, laid on vine-leaves; there were biscuits so light it seemed
as if a puff of wind might blow them away; there were twisted
doughnuts, and coffee brown and as clear as a mountain brook. It was a
pleasant little feast; and the old fiddler glanced with cheerful
approval over the table as he sat down.

"Ah, Miss Vesta," he said, as he handed the biscuits gallantly to his
hostess, "there's no such table as this for me to sit down to,
wherever I go, far or near. Look at the biscuit, now,--moulded snow, I
call them. Take one, Melody, my dear. You'll never get anything better
to eat in this world."

The child flushed with pleasure.

"You're praising her too much to herself," said Miss Vesta, with a