quences" she mostly meant the grocery bill-and blindly shed the yam money over the grove, hiring men to saw the fallen pines into huge logs and haul them into the rows between the citrus trees.

By the time this was done the end of November was upon the land, banishing the butterflies, but likewise banishing snakes, and bringing truck farms into productiveness, so that carts full of young vegetables began to travel the roads to the dock at Perseverance, their loads being shipped thence to towns in the more shivery north.

Congratulating herself upon a good thing well done, Laurie took Roycroft into her grove to approve of

the work.

"Looks as if I'd gone into the business of raising pyres for martyrs, doesn't it?" she asked, pointing proudly to the display.

There were a hundred of these pyres, and the fire logs were piled generously high.

"How do you expect these to be kindled ?" he criticized, after beating open a stack and gazing into the disclosed inside without special enthusiasm.

Then he switched his boots immaculately clean with his riding crop.

"I rather thought of applying a match to them,” she answered ironically, "unless you recommend a cup of water."

"I recommend several barrels of turpentine waste." "How do I get it?" she asked, her short-lived insouciance dying out.

So the insatiable grove was not yet content! "Send to one of the turpentine camps."

The plural noun caught her attention.

"Is there another beside Calhoun Tandy's?" she

asked. If there was, she privately intended to drive there herself for the waste.

"You know Tandy?" he asked in turn. "Fine big giant, don't you know!"

"Yes, I know," she answered composedly, covering both ends of his remark. "Who else has a camp?" "One Menefee, unless I am mistaken."

"Bill?” she asked delightedly, remembering a letter the mailman had tried to leave with her.

"In selecting your friends you appear to exercise a catholic spirit," observed Roycroft, quite disdainfully.

“Well, you have a few queer acquaintances, too," she replied, unvexed. "The queerest was around here the other day."

She thereupon told him of Selig's second visit. As she proceeded, the anger in Roycroft's bright eyes switched from poor Bill to the money lender and orange

contractor.

“He refused to accept a partial payment on the mortgage?" he asked.

"Absolutely refused. Nice of him, wasn't it? Really nice. He would have left me without a cent if he had taken it."

Roycroft's riding crop came down upon his leg with an angry "Swish!"

"And instead of advising you to keep the money by you for emergencies had you spend it?"

"Yes. On the crop."

"Because it is likely to fail!"

The happy ground suddenly rocked beneath poor little McAllister's feet. Her hands came slowly together in a clasp as if she prayed.

"Fail?" she whispered incredulously.

"I spoke without stopping to think," he admitted, gnawing his lip, punishing it for luckless haste.

"That is when people generally speak the whole truth," she faltered.

"Do not permit an individual opinion to weigh so heavily with you," he urged.

She pondered this to see if there was any comfort in it, and there was not, for Roycroft was established authority the county round..

"What makes you think it will fail?" she asked faintly.

Hating his task, but too sincere to shirk it now it was here, he took hold of the first branch to meet his hand and shook it roughly. Amid a shower of leaves, much fruit fell dismally to the ground.

"Wouldn't anything come off-if you shook it like that even my head?" she asked, piteously.

He made a swiftly negative gesture. "They fall because the trees are impoverished through years of neglect."

"But who intends to go around shaking them?" she demanded, willing to recover her usual confidence if only given half a chance.

"What will do the damage is a cold snap."

"Then a cold snap mustn't come," she began, trying to speak lightly, but gaining in anxiety by the very effort. "Oh, Mr. Roycroft, it mustn't come, it mustn't, it mustn't! Don't think me cowardly because I give way like this, but I am worn out trying to keep cheerful so that grandpa shan't guess that everything has gone wrong. The money that I brought down with me is almost spent. If the orange crop fails there is nothing for him and me to do but to jump into the lake!” "Laurie!" he admonished indignantly.

"Don't you think you'd better wait till I address you frantically as-as Colin?" she asked, dashing the tears from her lashes, and laughing a little at this good opportunity of escape from tragedy.

Her speech had the apparent effect of transferring the tragedy from her possession to his, for he looked anything but mollified or entertained. Instead, he acted as if ready to wash his hands of the whole interview. His aghast realization of her probable future predicament, and a desire not to add to her troubles by complicating them with his own touchiness, combined to keep him patiently by her side, however, and induced him to investigate further, in the hopes of finding a way out.

“Miss Laurie, is it literally true that you that you -well, put all your eggs into this one basket?" He staked the floating metaphor to the spot by pointing to the grove through the sorry avenue headed by the tree that so easily had given up its fruit.

"Literally true," she answered.

"Whatever made you!"

"I did it because I had so-so few eggs and no other basket,” she answered, clinging forlornly to the tail of the kite-like metaphor.

His pointing arm fell to his side with eloquent helplessness.

"You think Mr. Selig is planning to ruin me?" she presently asked.

"I think it looks that way."

"What object could he have?"

"He lives by the ruin of others."

"He couldn't ruin you, though, even if he walked off with grove and furniture, could he? For you have another trade at your finger tips!"

She flipped this remark like a whiplash, making him tingle angrily, even though he did not yet know the point of her aim.

"Meaning?" he hinted loftily.

"You could hire out any day as a Job's comforter!" "My particular mission this morning is not of that -er-Scriptural character," he remarked suavely, "but to find out if you and your grandfather will do me the honor to dine with me on Christmas Day."

"I beg your pardon for being rude," she faltered. The dear word "Christmas" unlocked her heart, giving her natural gentleness a chance to step out and show itself. "You are very good. I suppose you guessed how lonely grandpa and I should have been by ourselves, though we have pretended that we shouldn't. Christmas is the one day in the year when we truly, truly need to be with our friends-that is why we shall be very happy to dine with you, Mr. Roycroft, and I-we-thank you."

He lifted his hat and bowed his grateful acknowledgment of her acceptance, but he disclaimed the motive ascribed to him.

"I fear I was thinking mostly of my own pleasure," he said. "Does it never strike you that I must be very lonely in my empty house?"

"No, it never does," she replied, shaking her head energetically. "You always have the air of being delightfully satisfied with yourself."

“Ah, reelly?” he inquired, parting immediately with his naturalness which had been very attractive while it lasted.

"Yes, reelly," she mimicked, smilingly. She was always ready to cope with him when he was skating upon his artificial ice pond. It was his sympathetic