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“To-morrer’ll see my revenge,” growled Moses, now thoroughly roused to action under the protection of his own roof. “Of course I am,” he replied promptly, with a squeeze of her hand that made her wince. “At first I was scared; I thought you must be a fairy.” One brilliant Sunday Mr. Wells paced up and down in the sunshine before his little church. An ardent lover of nature he was admiring the beautiful shades of the foliage on either hand and the gorgeous masses of golden-rod that lifted feathery heads to the sun. Presently seeing two or three vehicles approaching he retired into the church..

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As the four descended the air in the gorge became clearer. They approached the hut stealthily; and when in full view of the closed door, the Sheriff told Billy his part of the work was done, and ordered him home out of the fire. He looked at the beaming faces, at the beautiful table with Jean’s great pagoda cake in the centre, the dates, 1893-1906, in evergreen; at the flowers everywhere; at the dishes,—they usually ate from vine leaves at their out-of-door feasts,—at the paper napkins folded fantastically and hovering over the table like gay butterflies. His eloquent face told his surprise, his gratitude, his delight. He opened his mouth to speak some fitting word, but it wouldn’t come. He tried again, for he felt the occasion called for something formally appreciative. But only a whimsical idea flitted into his mind; and he sang back— “Golly! They’re working all night. I—ought to—help—to-morrow. I—” He slept again with his good resolution half made. “Mudgie never saw any fairies,” replied Mrs. Mifsud, “But she is glad St. Elmo can see them.”.