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HE little Quaker community of Hinsboro had been invaded by two worldlings that summer, which had so disturbed its wonted quietness that Brother Cox had been forced to lament more than once. "Alas, that this should be! The days of our peace have gone."

Brother Cox felt the trouble more than the other members of the community, for he knew that he was partly responsible for it. To think that his nephew, his only brother's son, should come out to Hinsboro and in these few short months raise such a commotion among the people! But there was a redeeming virtue in the young man, which Brother Cox dwelt upon with a feeling of relief. Before the saucy face and blue eyes of Ella Stratton were seen in Hinsboro, Jack Cox was as quiet and demure as the most conservative Quaker. True, he only attended meetings once a week, and then it was generally out of respect for his uncle; but he never entered into the gay life which had since shocked the sensibilities of the Quakers.

Naturally, Brother Cox took a personal dislike to the new tenants of the deserted cottage on the outskirts of the village, and he could scarcely conceal his disapproval of the young girl's actions. He felt convinced that she was at the bottom of all the trouble. Her showy dress, pink cheeks, blue eyes, and rippling laughter suggested the world too strongly for the Quakers to enjoy.

"She belongs to the world," Brother Cox said one day as he passed her. "She has no right out here among our peaceful people. It will be well for us when she leaves."

They were only summer tenants, and consisted simply of Mrs. Stratton, her daughter, and two servants. They did not exhibit much wealth or finery, but to the plain Quakers their dress and general appearance seemed altogether out of propriety. Then the way Ella laughed and tramped over the fields on foot or rode on horseback shocked the good housewives. Jack Cox had known the

Brother Cox was inclined to be more lenient than the others. His fields stretched nearly out to the cottage of the Strattons, and he would often stop in his work to glance at the red house. One day he paused in his labors, and looked up to discover the bright face of Ella Stratton. She was leaning on the fence which separated the two grounds.

"Don't you get tired of work, Mr. Cox?" she asked in a sweet voice. "I do, dreadfully, and you are older than I am."

The good Quaker straightened himself up to his full six feet. He was still a fine-looking man of fifty, with gray locks, a calm, noble face, and dark eyes.

"Work keeps us from mischief," he answered seriously.

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"I know that, and I suppose you think ought to be at work now, and not standing here to bother you," she replied. "It would be better for you," was the rather unexpected reply.

The girl's cheeks colored a little at the ungallant words, but she asked demurely :

"Do you think I'm so very wicked?" "Ye are of the world and worldlyminded. I cannot judge thee, but thy actions have not my approval."

"Oh, what do I do that you don't like?" she asked, in a penitent voice. "You know I've been brought up so, and how could I know what to do?"

"True," mused Brother Cox, wiping his brow. "The sin is not so much yours as those who have brought thee up."

"Then mamma and papa must be wicked?" was the quick question. “I

won't believe that, for they have always been so good to me; mamma is and papa was before he - died."

"Well, child, ye can't blame them," Brother Cox said consolingly, noticing the distress of his young visitor. "Whom can I blame, then? Is it my grandmother and grandfather, or their grandmothers and grandfathers?"

Cold and dutiful as the Quaker was, there was still much vitality of youth in his strong frame. After all, he was only a man, and the rights of nature soon broke through all barriers of sect. He loved the beautiful girl who helped him to lemonade.

Was he too old for such a bright girl to look upon with favor? He had been

SO

"Oh, I would like to do better much! Will you tell me how? I should so much like to have you; for I like you." This was said in so artless and innocent a tone, that it went straight home to the man's heart. As he walked away from the place five minutes later, he recalled the look which accompanied the words. Such a face, such eyes, mouth, and expression are not often seen in this prosaic world, and Brother Cox should be forgiven for thinking of them again, and then again. He never knew before how pretty and winning the "Stratton girl" was. "If she was only of our belief and number," he muttered to himself. "But I might try to make her one. She is not yet lost to wickedness. She wants to

learn.

I'll teach her." After that the old rail-fence proved a regular trysting place for the two. Ella found plenty of excuses for going out to the fields, and Brother Cox cultivated the cornfield near that fence oftener than elsewhere. The weeds persisted in cropping up on the west side of the field, and he felt bound to keep them under control.

One day Ella brought some lemonade out to him, carrying it in a small silver pitcher. It was some of her own manufacture, and the day was so warm that it was very refreshing.

"O! Mr. Cox I have some lemonade for you," she said, as she hurried over the ploughed field. "I hope you like lemonade. I made it myself, and you looked so hot and tired out here in the sun, that I had to bring you a drink."

Brother Cox did drink, and smacked his lips. It was so kind of her to think of him, and while he talked, he admired her bright face and her manners. Could any man look upon such a vision of beauty and not feel his pulse beat faster?

munity before he courted his dead wife, and he was sure that he still possessed some of the requisites of a lover. But she was a girl of the world and not accustomed to the prosaic life of the Quakers. Would she be content to live in his large, gloomy house, and try to make it bright and comfortable for him? He could teach her the ways of his sect, and give her a fine home. He would gradually draw her away from the ways of evil, and centre her mind upon thoughts of love, charity, and religion.

"She may be frail, now, but the sturdy oak was once but a sapling," he said. "She can learn and grow."

He trod the floors of his old home with a lighter and firmer step. The bareness of the old-fashioned rooms impressed him with a sense of dissatisfaction. They would have to be re-furnished and brightened. The flowers and vines around the house needed cultivation and pruning, and even the outside of the house would need a new coat of paint.

"I've thought of doing this before," Brother Cox muttered, "and it may be. done now."

There were improvements about the yard, the gardens, and the outbuildings, which were readily suggested to his critical eyes. He made notes of these things, and resolved to make a complete transformation.

"She has been brought up in the ways of the city, and she would not like to come to a gloomy house. It will be just as well to improve things a little at first. She can't grow into our ways at once."

The golden harvest of the autumn was approaching. The crops nodded obeisance to the reapers on every side. The autumn colors suggested peace and quietness in the Quaker community after the long, toilsome days of the summer.

Brother Cox stood by the old fence separating his fields from the garden surrounding the tenant's cottage. The day's work had been finished, and the faint shadows suggested the approach of twilight. Ella Stratton, with a meek, demure face, was standing beside him.

"I feel that I have become so much better this summer," she said. "You know why; you have been so good to me, and have taught me so much."

"Ye should not say that, for it might make me vain. Such a sin should not come to me at my age."

"Why, you are not old, Mr. Cox."

There was a thrill of pleasure in the sturdy frame, and it seemed to straighten more erectly than ever.

"Then my errand here will be made easier for me. Ye know that I have come here for a purpose. Ye have guessed it?"

"Yes, Mr. Cox, I have," was the quick reply, while the face flushed beautifully.

This must be the way of the world, he thought, for the girl to make such advances. It was so different in the community!

"I would have spoken to thee before, but I wished to know thee better. That's why I've spent so many hours at this fence, talking to thee."

“Oh, how kind of you! I wanted to know you better too. I thought probably you would dislike me. I was SO different from you, — and wicked."

"But ye are learning our ways, and ye are very apt. Ye can be very good, and there is nothing like having — a protector."

"And such a good protector as I shall have!" she said with a look of admiration at him.

"Ye are kind to say so. The Coxes have always been good to their wives and families."

"I know that, for they are so good to every one now. I love them. I believe that I love the whole family. I never enjoyed a summer so much as this one in Hinsboro."

It was so graceful for her to say it. He felt that she made his wooing easy. How remarkable that she had divined his feeling all along!

"Then ye think that I will suit thee?" he asked in a voice that was almost raillery. "Ye have studied me enough at this fence?"

"Yes, I know I shall like you. I knew it from the first. Everybody thought that you were so cold and stern that you couldn't love any one. But I knew differently. I liked you then, and now I love you."

She kissed his brawny hand impulsively, her warm lips sending a delicious thrill through him. This was not an old man's courting, but a young woman's, and, though strange to Brother Cox, it had a sweetness that drowned any thoughts of wrong.

"She's a frail little thing," he thought, "but she's loving and she's good. She only needs some one to train her."

"But ye know I'm old, and sometimes cross," he said deprecatingly. "I am past fifty."

"That is not very old, and I like old men. And you have such a manly form, and — beautiful hair, and ways. I shall always be proud of you."

Flushed with his success, he felt that he could be plainer, and he continued:

"Ye know I'm strict in my livingnot approving frailties and gay life. That should repel thee."

"Oh, no. Jack told me all about that at first. He said you were strict, but that you had a loving heart beneath it all. He always got along well with you, and he knew that I would."

Jack, Jack! Had he known of it all? Had he been putting her up to this strange wooing, laughing in his sleeve at his uncle's sentiment? The girl continued rapidly :

"He wanted to speak to you first, and tell you all. He knew that you would disapprove of our match, but I told him not to tell you, I would first win your friendship, and then your love. I would meet you every day, and if I could make you like me by autumn then he could tell you all. I didn't know as I could marry him if you didn't give your consent; but when I found how nice and good you were, I felt that it was all right."

A shadow seemed to settle over the landscape. Everything appeared dark.

Night must be approaching, and a man's eyes at fifty are not quite as good as at twenty-five. Brother Cox heard the voice of the girl, but it all seemed so strange. He had not thought of Jack.

"Are you going now? Oh, yes, it is getting dark. I didn't realize that it was so late. I must go back to the house too. The dew is on the grass. Goodnight. Jack and I will always love you always."

He felt the press of the warm lips on his hand again, but they did not send the thrill through him as before. It certainly was dark walking across the field, and several times Brother Cox stopped to find his way. It was strange that he should get lost in the fields which he had tilled and cultivated for forty years. When he reached the house he felt tired, and he rested on the front piazza before

entering the large dining-room. He seemed dazed and uncomfortable. The painters and carpenters had left their tools around, reminding him of the improvements he was having made in his home. They seemed a mockery now.

He entered the house and walked across the strong floors. Then he strolled toward the dining-room.

"Jack, Jack, where are ye? Come here. I want to see thee. I know all everything. She has told me, and ye have my approval. I'm getting the house fixed up, and ye must come here to live."

"Is it really true, uncle? You are as good as you are handsome, uncle. Ella always said you were."

"Ye must live here every summer, and come and see me as often as ye can in the winter."

"We will, uncle.”

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