At the prettiest of wayside stations the train stopped and Ronald got out. There were horses to meet him. "Better than a car," thought Ronald, "on an afternoon like this." The luggage was collected--"Nothing left out," he chuckled to himself, and was seized with an insane desire to tell the coach-man so; and then they drove off through the fresh green hedgerows, Ronald trying hard not to cheer. His host was at the door as they arrived. Ronald, as happy as a child, jumped out and shook him warmly by the hand, and told him what a heavenly day it was; receiving with smiles of pleasure the news in return that it was almost like summer. "You're just in time for tea. Really, we might have it in the garden." "By Jove, we might," said Ronald, beaming. However, they had it in the hall, with the doors wide open. Ronald, sitting lazily with his legs stretched out and a cup of tea in his hands, and feeling already on the friendliest terms with everybody, wondered again at the difference which the weather could make to one's happiness. "You know," he said to the girl on his right, "on a day like this, NOTHING seems to matter." And then suddenly he knew that he was wrong; for he had discovered what it was which he had told himself not to forget ... what it was which he had indeed forgotten. And suddenly the birds stopped singing and there was a bitter chill in the air. And the sun went violently out. . . . . . . . He was wearing only half a pair of spats. STORIES OF SUCCESSFUL LIVES THE SOLICITOR The office was at its busiest, for it was Friday afternoon. John Blunt leant back in his comfortable chair and toyed with the key of the safe, while he tried to realize his new position. He, John Blunt, was junior partner in the great London firm of Macnaughton, Macnaughton, Macnaughton, Macnaughton & Macnaughton! He closed his eyes, and his thoughts wandered back to the day when he had first entered the doors of the firm as one of two hundred and seventy-eight applicants for the post of office-boy. They had been interviewed in batches, and old Mr Sanderson, the senior partner, had taken the first batch. "I like your face, my boy," he had said heartily to John. "And I like yours," replied John, not to be outdone in politeness. "Now I wonder if you can spell 'mortgage'?" "One 'm'?" said John tentatively. Mr Sanderson was delighted with the lad's knowledge, and engaged him at once. For three years John had done his duty faithfully. During this time he had saved the firm more than once by his readiness--particularly on one occasion, when he had called old Mr Sanderson's attention to the fact that he had signed a letter to a firm of stockbrokers, "Your loving husband Macnaughton, Macnaughton, Macnaughton, Macnaughton & Macnaughton." Mr Sanderson, always a little absentminded, corrected the error, and promised the boy his articles. Five years later John Blunt was a solicitor.