other direction, went to bring the horses from the distant
pasture. It was a mellow afternoon, and a golden haze wrapped the
broad meadow, filled with autumn wild flowers, and the little
bricked-up graveyard on the low, green hill. As he swung himself
over the bars at the end of the path he saw Lila and Jim
Weatherby gathering goldenrod in the center of the field. When
they caught sight of him, Jim laid his handful of blossoms in a
big basket on the ground and came to join him on his way to the
pasture.

"They are for Mrs. Blake's fireplace," he remarked with a
friendly smile, as he glanced back at Lila standing knee-deep
amid the October flowers.

"It's a queer idea," observed Christopher, finding himself at a
loss for a reply.

Jim strolled on leisurely, snatching at the heads of wild carrot
as he passed.

"There's something I've wanted to tell you, Christopher," he said
after a moment, turning his pleasant, manly face upon the other.

"Is that so?" asked Christopher, with a sudden desire to avert
the impending responsibility. "Oh, but I hardly think I'm the
proper person, " he added, laughing.

Jim met his eyes squarely.

"I'm a plain man," he said slowly, "and though I'm not ashamed of