"Carter, you're mighty good stuff and I like you. What you've taught me to-night I'll never forget. Katy never had a mother, and I know now she's never had a home. Good-night." "Come, Katy, I guess I'll carry you, little girl--" and he picked up the child, wound her reluctant arms about his neck, and went out into the night. THE ROMANCE OF AN OLD-FASHIONED GENTLEMAN I Blossom week in Maryland! The air steeped in perfume and soft as a caress; the sky a luminous gray interwoven with threads of silver, flakings of pearl and tiny scales of opal. All the hill-sides smothered in bloom--of peach, cherry, and pear; in waves, windrows and drifts of pink and ivory. Here and there, fluffy white, a single tree upheld like a bride's bouquet ready for my lady's hand when she goes to meet her lord. In the marshes flames of fringed azaleas and the tracings of budding birch and willow outspread like the sticks of fans. At their feet, shouldering their way upward, big dock leaves--vigorous, lusty leaves--eager to flaunt their verdure in the new awakening. Everywhere the joyous songs of busy birds fresh from the Southland--flying shuttles these, of black, blue and brown, weaving homes in the loom of branch and bud. * * * * * To the trained eye of young Adam Gregg, the painter, all this glory of blossom, hill-side, and pearly tinted sky came as a revelation and a delight. Drawing rein on his sorrel mare he raised himself in his stirrups and swept his glance over the landscape, feasting his eyes on the note of warmth in the bloom of the peach--a blossom unknown to his more northern clime, on the soft brown of the pastures, and on the filmy blue of the distant hills melting into the gray haze of the April morning. Suddenly a thrill shot through him and a fresh enthusiasm rose in his heart: with all this wealth of color about him, what would not his brush accomplish. Swinging in his seat he readjusted the rain-cloak and painting-kit that were strapped to his saddle-bags, and rode on, his slouch hat pushed back from his forehead to cool his brow, his gray riding-coat unbuttoned and hanging loose, the brown riding-boots gripped about the mare's girth. As he neared his destination the concluding lines of the letter of introduction tucked away in his pocket kept recurring to his mind. He was glad his subject was to be a woman--one near his own age. Women understood him better, and he them. It was the face and shoulders of a young and pretty woman--and a countess, too--which had won for him his first Honorable Mention in Munich. Would he be as lucky with the face and shoulders of the "beautiful girl-wife of Judge Colton"?