hesitancy until today all her windows were open toward summer. In the zenith was a blue so soft and dreamy that it drew the soul as well as the eye toward it. A haze of Tyrian hue purpled the hills that encircled the little town, and mellowed the glory of the sunshine. There were splashes of green in the meadows so delicate as to be almost yellow, and along the brooks the willows played their fast greening boughs against a background of gray wood color. The very earth was odorous and the air was like balm, but Beatrice, usually susceptible to the beauties of Nature, was in too abstracted a mood to be conscious of the loveliness about her.

"But of course he would know me," she told herself at length, reassuringly. "Why, I should know him, and I was only five years old when he went away."

And with this she laughed aloud that she should have been so foolish as to consider for even a moment the absurd possibility of her father's not knowing her, and with her customary brightness of spirit restored she quickened her steps, and soon reached her uncle's place.

There were many acres in the estate. Henry Raymond was a well to do lawyer, and the walk to the dwelling lay through a large orchard. As Bee came in sight of the house the door opened, and a girl, about her own age, came out on the piazza, and ran down the steps to meet her. She was an extremely pretty girl. A slim graceful figure was hers, with a proud little head and sunny, shining hair that hung about her face with its beautiful blue eyes like a halo. She seemed rather the personification of loveliness than a flesh and blood maiden.

"What made you so late, Bee?" she cried. "I have been watching for you fully an hour."

"I staid to help Professor Lawrence for one thing; then the girls stopped me to talk with them. They want us to go to Edna's tomorrow afternoon. Will you be well enough to go, Adele?"

"Oh, I'm all right now, Bee. Papa came home early with a box of chocolates, and that seemed to be just what I needed."

Bee laughed.

"You butterfly," she said. "Always feeding on sweets. Did you leave me any?"

"Well—" Adele Raymond hesitated. "Not many, and that's a fact, Bee. You shouldn't have kept me waiting so long. And you haven't even noticed that I have on a new hat."

"But I thought that yours had violets on it," remarked Bee as she glanced at the hat. "That has red roses."

"Well, this one is yours, goosey. You're a funny girl, Bee, not to know your own hat. I have been trying mine on, then I thought I'd wear yours to meet you. And oh, Bee! the pictures have come too."

"What? Our photographs?" exclaimed Bee eagerly.

"Why Aunt Annie thought that we wouldn't have them for a week yet. Where are they, Adele?"

"In the library. I never knew you to be so concerned about your picture before, Bee."

"I am going to send one to father," observed Bee as she hurried into the house. "It's come just in time to go out with the letter."

"But do come up stairs first, Bee, and see my new hat. Wouldn't you like to see it?"

"I'd rather see the pictures," answered Bee making a dash for the library, flinging her hat in one direction and her books in another as she did so.

"Mamma won't like it if she sees your things lying about," observed her cousin following her into the library.

"I'll pick them up just as soon as I see the photographs," said Bee impatiently as she took up the pictures.

"Oh, Adele! how pretty you do look in yours; but mine—Oh, dear! it certainly leaves much to be desired."

"Mamma said that your good looks lay in your expression," remarked her cousin. "That is what makes it so hard to get a good picture of you, Bee. You are not going to send it to Uncle William, are you?"

"Yes," answered Bee with determination. "I never would send one before because I always hoped to get a good one, but tonight Sue Ford asked me if I thought he would know me if he were to meet me unexpectedly, and I am going to make sure of it. Now, if you don't mind, Adele, I'll begin my letter at once."

"Oh, Bee. I have been so lonely and dull," pleaded Adele. "Must you write it this very minute?"

"If I don't he won't hear from me at all this month, and father insists on hearing once a month. It is such a little thing to do for him, and I love to please him. It won't take me long."

"Of course then I must go away, and leave you alone," said her cousin petulantly. "Mamma doesn't want me to bother you when you are writing to him; but please don't be long, Bee."

"I won't," promised Bee, and at last she was left in peace.

An hour later Adele opened the door the merest trifle to peep in: "Mamma wants you to come to her just as soon as you have finished Bee," she said. "Are you through?"

"I have written the letter, but I haven't fixed the envelope for the picture yet," answered Beatrice jumping up from the desk. "If you don't mind doing it for me, Adele, I'll see what Aunt Annie wants."

"I don't mind a bit, Bee." Adele came into the room quickly. "Where is the address?"

"Here!" Bee moved a slip of paper on the desk toward her. "He is to be in Egypt this month."

"Just think of it," commented Adele bending over the desk. "That's a long way off. Shall I put the picture in for you, Bee?"

But Bee had already left the room. Adele directed the envelope in her best hand, then picked up her cousin's photograph, and looked at it critically.

"Poor Bee!" she said aloud. "It isn't very good of her. I'd hate to have my father think I looked like that if he was far away from me. And Bee is much better looking. I suppose Uncle William won't mind though, as she is his daughter. Now if it were my picture—"

She placed her own picture beside that of Bee's, and gazed at it complacently. Suddenly she gave a little ripple of laughter:

"Wouldn't it be fun to send my picture instead of Bee's?" she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "I believe I'll do it. Bee will never know, and hers is really not good enough to send."

With this she slipped Bee's photograph into a drawer of the desk, placed her own in the envelope, and sealed it just as Bee re-entered the room.

"You're a dear!" exclaimed Bee taking it from her, and picking up her letter. "Aunt Annie wants me to go down town for her, and I'll be just in time for the night mail."

Chapter II

The Omen of the Butterfly

"I am so glad that I sent it," exclaimed Beatrice again and again after posting the letter and the photograph. "Father has always wanted my picture, but I waited hoping that sometime I'd get a good one. Still, it will give him an idea of how I look even though it is a poor likeness. I do wonder if he will like it!"

And with a roguish smile Adele would answer: "I think so, Bee."

The days passed. With more than her usual impatience Bee waited for an answer to her letter. If the connections were prompt, if he were not away from civilization on an extended butterfly hunt, if he wrote just as soon as he received it, she ought to hear by the last of May, she told herself; so, having arrived at this conclusion, she tried to rest in patience until that time should come.

At length the timid beauties of April were merged into the exuberance of the leaf and flower of May, and Nature was resplendent in the full glory of the springtide. The last day of the month fell upon a Saturday, and early in the morning of that day Bee dressed herself to go into town for the mail. Seating herself upon the