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"Very," returns he, surprised. He has not thought of her as one versed in lore of any kind. "What poets do you prefer?" Silence. Mona taps the mound beside her with impatient fingers, her mind being evidently great with thought. "What a strange name yours is!—Nolly," says Mona, presently..

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"Ah!" says Doatie, clasping her hands. "And——" "I am not going to suffer," says Mona, lightly. "Sorrow only falls on every second generation; and you know poor mother was very unhappy at one time: therefore I am free. You will call that superstition, but," with a grave shake of her head, "it is quite true." He turns, as though by an irrepressible impulse, to look keenly at her. His scrutiny endures only for an instant. Then he says, with admirable indifference,— "Oh, no!" shaking her lovely head emphatically, with a smile. "It's country dances I mean. Up the middle and down again, and all that," moving her hand in a soft undulating way as though keeping it in accord with some music that is ringing in her brain. Then, sweetly, "Did you ever dance a country dance?".