scarcely ever been more to her heart than the new ones now forming. She often saw, with her children and grandchildren, the form of a tall girl passing to and fro, and to her loving eyes Amy seemed to be the fairest and sweetest flower of this gala period. She, and indeed they all, had observed Burt's strongly manifested preference, but, with innate refinement and good sense, there had been a tacit agreement to appear blind. The orphan girl should not be annoyed by even the most delicate raillery, but the old lady and her husband could not but feel the deepest satisfaction that Bart was making so wise a choice. They liked Amy all the better because she was so little disposed to sentiment, and proved that she was not to be won easily. But they all failed to understand her, and gave her credit for a maturity that she did not possess. In her happy, healthful country life the girlish form that had seemed so fragile when she first came to them was taking on the rounded lines of womanhood. Why should she not be wooed like other girls at her age? Burt was further astray than any one else, and was even inclined to complain mentally that her nature was cold and unresponsive. And yet her very reserve and elusiveness increased his passion, which daily acquired a stronger mastery. Webb alone half guessed the truth in regard to her. As time passed, and he saw the increasing evidences of Burt's feeling, he was careful that his manner should be strictly fraternal toward Amy, for his impetuous brother was not always disposed to be reasonable even in his normal condition, and now he was afflicted with a malady that has often brought to shame the wisdom of the wisest. The elder brother saw how easily Burt's jealousy could be aroused, and therefore denied himself many an hour of the young girl's society, although it caused him a strange little heartache to do so. But he was very observant, for Amy was becoming a deeply interesting study. He saw and appreciated her delicate fence with Burt, in which tact, kindness, and a little girlish brusqueness were almost equally blended. Was it the natural coyness of a high-spirited girl, who could be won only by long and patient effort? or was it an instinctive self-defence from a suit that she could not repulse decisively without giving pain to those she loved? Why was she so averse? Their home-life, even at that busy season, gave him opportunities to see her often, and glimmerings of the truth began to dawn upon him. He saw that she enjoyed the society of Alf and Johnnie almost as much as that of the other members of the family, that her delight at every new manifestation of spring was as unforced as that of the children, while at the same time it was an intelligent and questioning interest. The beauty of the world without impressed her deeply, as it did Johnnie, but to the latter it was a matter of course, while to Amy it was becoming an inviting mystery. The little girl would