"I’m glad of that. The rest of the world may change, and must; but I’m jealous of a hair’s breadth of change in Pearfield." "Well, I don’t know. The hang-birds squabble a good deal," remarked Miss Lovina impartially. Her guest laughed again. The fact being that very few things in life moved him to laughter, he was enjoying himself hugely. "You are too practical; too unsentimental, Aunt Love," he asserted argumentatively. "Too unsentimental, hey?" responded Miss Berry, folding her hands over the white apron that protected her striped gingham gown. "That’s pretty good from you. What does it mean? Have you repented o’ your singular ways, and been fallin’ in love?" "Oh, yes," responded the other, more seriously; then added simply, as though stating an undeniable fact, "I am always falling in love." "Then why don’t you get married?" asked Miss Lovina bluntly. "I haven’t heard a thing about you in so long, I didn’t know but what you was married, only I hadn’t received any cake. I didn’t believe you’d forget me." "No," said Page. "If I could be as loyal to any girl as I am to you, Aunt Love, I should certainly ask her if she would have me." "But if you fall in love?" asked Miss Berry, perplexed. "The trouble is I don’t stay in love," explained Page with simple sincerity. "I can’t help forgetting about the young lady in a little while. It really makes me blue sometimes. Now this summer at Bar Harbor I met a girl who was remarkably pleasant. Pretty, clever, a good talker. Her tastes and mine coincided. My mind was full of her when I left the place." "Have you heard from her since?" asked Miss Berry with interest. This certainly sounded encouraging. "Oh yes. I have sent her candy and flowers and books from time to time," responded Page, beginning to look serious and abstracted. "Then you write to each other?" "Yes, oh yes, we do—yes. Come to think of it, though," Page gave a short uncomfortable laugh, "I believe I never answered her last letter. I’ve forgotten. I must look it up when I get back to town, if I can remember it. Aunt Love," brightening, "are those scalloped cookies still in the tin box?" "Child! You haven’t had any supper!" Miss Berry sprang to her feet with astonishing celerity, her plumpness considered. The guest also rose. "Yes I have, but I want a cookie." "Then I’ll get it for you." "No, no; that would spoil everything." Page took his hostess by her plump, comfortable arms and forced her back into her seat. "There ain’t a bit o’ light in there," remarked Miss Berry resignedly. "That was the condition of things when my aim for the cookies used to be most unerring," returned the visitor, disappearing into the house. He returned shortly, carrying in one hand a cookie which already had lost from its side a generous semicircle, and in the other a round, deep tin box which he placed at an impartial distance between his own chair and Miss Lovina’s.