“It is called ‘Moonlight,’ and this seemed just the time to sing it. Mother loved it. I thought she’d like me to sing it for you on your birthday.” “Maybe so, maybe so. Well, Ellen, it’s high time you were in bed. Trot along.” Then she took the girl in her arms and gave her a warm kiss, a most unusual thing for Rindy Crump to do. CHAPTER VIII ONCE MORE It was at a church picnic that Ellen discovered who had sent her the flowers at Christmas and she reported her discovery to Miss Rindy that evening. “Who was that walking home with you?” asked Miss Rindy, who had been on the watch. “Frank Ives,” returned Ellen promptly. “He was real nice to me at the picnic, and insisted on carrying my basket home, though, goodness knows, it wasn’t heavy.” “Humph!” was Miss Rindy’s only comment. “And, Cousin Rindy, I found out who sent me the flowers last Christmas; it was Frank.” Miss Rindy gave her a keen look, but there was no conscious expression on the girl’s face. “I don’t have much use for those Iveses,” came the comment. “They were poor trash before the war, and now that they have plenty of money they are insufferable in my opinion. The father made his money in the war, cheating the government, I’m told, and they have splurged out and put on airs till I can’t stand the sight of them. The girl’s a painted doll, and the mother isn’t much better.” “Frank seems rather jolly,” Ellen defended, “and rather like his name,—frank, you know, and not a bit airish.” “I don’t know anything about the boy, but I’d advise you to keep clear of the whole outfit.” However, Ellen did not find this easy to do. A crowd of merry young people were in the habit of gathering every evening at Dr. Rowe’s, and, leaving her cousin to hobnob with some of her cronies, Ellen would slip out and run down to Caro, who always met her with open arms. Knowing that Miss Rindy had not the slightest objection to this acquaintance, Ellen felt free to visit Caro whenever she wished. Frank would bring his guitar, and Clyde Fawcett his mandolin. Ellen would lead the singing, and, though the music was not of the highest order, being chiefly about bananas, Alabama coons, and such foolishness, they all enjoyed it, mainly because it was team work and brought forth youthful laughter and merry jokes. Frank fell into the habit of walking home with Ellen, the two always followed by the statement “I was seeing Nellie home,” sung vociferously by those left behind. Frank was a tall, slim youth of eighteen, inclined to be sentimental, lazy, and pleasure loving. One could hardly blame him for cultivating these traits when he had an over-indulgent mother and a father who thought of little except increasing his bank account, and who never checked his children in the pursuit of any of their inclinations, a course not likely to develop strength of character.