e11 UMMING IN ,1 CABIN. 47

He sighed, and tapped the empty howl of his pipe lightly upon his palm; something told him already that this child was not destined for the Common, quiet ways. The small feet would tread unusual paths; be pierced perhaps by the thorns.

We learn that lesson,” he said, dreamily watching the sombre top of the mountain through the open “indoyv, we learn that lesson too early. But it is true, quite true, that we know when things have come to stay. When one is young, for instance, love comes, and we say, Welcome, love.’ And lo I while we say it, love is gone. But the one love, -—I like to think there is but one,-— when we meet it, in the silences of pain, the gloom of sorrow, or the blackness of midnight, we know that it has come to stay. We open our hearts, and take it in, and it never goes again. Not real love; yes, we know when it has come to stay. Sometimes it tears and wounds, and does not respond to our caresses, but it stays in our hearts; a dear, dear sorrow, but it stays. But about the dog, Len, we must send it home.”

The girl fastened her fingers in the dog’s white throat. Well, chunnny,” said she, he came without an invitation, he’ll go the same way. I never turn a guest from my door. And now we want a name for him.”

Oh, call him Zip, or Rip, or Nip; most anything will do for the little time he’ll tarry with us. We have had friends before this, Len.”

The child’s brow clouded. But that’s all done