a live ruler." She stopped rather suddenly. Clarence never touched on religious subjects in conversation— "Dear, what a ducking Arthur and I got in a thunderstorm one time. We were out hazel-nutting and—" "Do you always call Mr. Grafton Arthur?" interrupted Clarence, a little impatiently. "Oh, yes! Why, how funny it would seem to call Arthur Mr. Grafton!" "Beth"—he grew paler and his voice almost trembled,—"Beth, do you love Arthur Grafton?" "Love Arthur! Why, dear, no! I never thought of it. He's just like my brother. Besides," she continued after a pause, "Arthur is going away off somewhere to be a missionary, and I don't think I could be happy if I married a man who wasn't a writer." That was very naive of Beth. She forgot Clarence's literary pretensions. "Then can you love me, Beth? Don't you see that I love you?" There was a moment's silence. Their eyes met in a long, earnest look. An impulse of tenderness came over her, and she threw both arms about his neck as he clasped her to his breast. The stars were shining above and the water breaking at their feet. They understood each other without words. "Oh, Clarence, I am so happy, so very happy!" The night air wafted the fragrance of roses about them like incense. They walked on along the shore, happy lovers, weaving their life-dreams under the soft sky of that summer night. "I wonder if anyone else is as happy as we are, Beth!" "Oh, Clarence, how good we ought to be! I mean to always be kinder and to try and make other people happy, too." "You are good, Beth. May God bless our lives." She had never seen Clarence so earnest and manly before. Yes, she was very much in love, she told herself. They talked much on the way back to the house. He told her that his father was not so wealthy as many people supposed; that it would be several years before he himself could marry. But Beth's brow was not clouded. She wanted her college course, and somehow Clarence seemed so much more manly with a few difficulties to face. A faint sound of
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