One quiet Sunday evening in harvest time, Martha and Arthur stood beside the lilac hedge and watched the sun going down behind the Brandon Hills. Before them stretched the long field of ripening grain. There was hardly a leaf stirring on the trees over their heads, but the tall grain rustled and whispered of the abundance of harvest. As they listened to the rustling of the wheat Martha said: "I have been trying to think what it sounds like, but can think of nothing better than the bursting of soap-bubbles on a tub of water, and that's a very unpoetical comparison." "I think it's a very good one, though," Arthur said, absently. "And it seems to whisper: 'Plenty, plenty, plenty,' as if it would tell us we need not rush and worry so," she went on. "I love to listen to it. It has such a contented sound." Arthur sighed wearily, and looking up, Martha saw his face was sad with bitter memories. "What is it, Arthur?" she said, drawing nearer in quick sympathy. "I'm all right," he answered quickly, but, with an effort; "just a little bit blue, perhaps." "How can anyone be blue to-night with everything so beautiful and full of promise?" Martha cried. "There are other things--beside these," he said gloomily. Martha shrank back at his words, for she knew of whom he was thinking. Then a sudden rage seized her, and she turned and faced him with a new light burning in her eyes. "You must forget her!" she cried. "You must! She cares nothing for you. She, never loved you, or she would not have treated you so badly. She soon let you go when she got what she thought, was a better chance. Why do you go on loving her?" She seized his arm and shook him. "It's foolish, it's weak--why do you do it? I wouldn't waste a thought on any one who cares nothing for me--it isn't--it isn't----" she stopped abruptly, and the colour surged into her pale face. "Oh, Arthur, forgive me for speaking so." All the anger had gone from her voice. "I cannot bear to see you so unhappy. Try to forget her. The world is wide and beautiful." In the western sky a band of crimson circled the horizon. "Martha," Arthur said gently, "you are one of the truest friends a fellow ever had, and I know you think I am foolish and sentimental, but I am just a little bit upset to-day. I saw her last night--she and--her husband were on the train going to Winnipeg, and I saw them at the station. She's lovelier than ever. This sounds foolish to you, I know, Martha, but that's because you don't know. I hope you will never know." Martha turned away hastily. "All this," he continued, waving his hand toward the evening sky and the quiet landscape, "all this reminds me of her. You know, Martha, when you look at the sun for a while you can see suns everywhere you look; that's the way it is with me." The colour was fading from the sky; only the faintest trace of rose-pink tinged the gray clouds.