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"Oh, yes, you must indeed," says the little enthusiast, brightening. "It is more than lovely. How I wish I could go with you!",

"Oh, Geoffrey, how could you do it?" she says, reproachfully, alluding to his marriage,—"you whom I have so loved. What would your poor father have thought had he lived to see this unhappy day? You must have been mad.",

There is no vehement applause as Mona takes her fingers from the keys, but every one says, "Thank you," in a low tone. Geoffrey, going up to her, leans over her chair and whispers, with some agitation,—,

In Montana, running into the Missouri River from the south, is a little stream that the Blackfeet call "It Fell on Them." Once, long, long ago, while a number of women were digging in a bank near this stream for the red earth that they used as paint, the bank gave way and fell on them, burying and killing them. The white people call this Armell's Creek.

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"Ah," he said to himself, "true were the signs! How crazy I was to go against them! Now my bravery has been useless, for here I must stop and die. The widows will still mourn, and who will care for my father and mother in their old age? Pity me now, O Sun; help me, O Great Above Person! Give me life!",

"Dear me," she says, throwing up her dainty head, and flinging, with a petulant gesture, the unoffending grass far from her, "what an escape I have had! How his mother would have hated me! Surely I should count it lucky that I discovered all about her in time. Because really it doesn't so very much matter; I dare say I shall manage to be quite perfectly happy here again, after a little bit, just as I have been all my life—before he came. And when he is gone"—she pauses, chokes back with stern determination a very heavy sigh, and then goes on hastily and with suspicious bitterness, "What a temper he has! Horrid! The way he flung away my hand, as if he detested me, and flounced down that hill, as if he hoped never to set eyes on me again! With no 'good-by,' or 'by your leave,' or 'with your leave,' or a word of farewell, or a backward glance, or anything! I do hope he has taken me at my word, and that he will go straight back, without seeing me again, to his own odious country.",

"N—ot very," says Doatie, dolefully.,

"Why?" demands her mistress, somewhat haughtily. "I suppose even the English gentleman, as you call him, can see butter with dying! Show him in at once."