you have established by means of that admirable duplex instrument, a pair of eyes."
"You distress me very much, Sam," returned Robin, seriously. "I assure you I have never consciously done anything of the sort, and I have never opened my lips to Letta on the subject—I dare not."
"I believe you as to your consciousness; but, to be serious, Robin, why should being in love make you miserable?"
"Because it makes me doubt whether Letta cares for me."
"Nonsense, Robin. Take my advice, put an end to your doubts, and make sure of your ground by taking heart and proposing to Letta."
"I dare not, Sam. It is all very well for a fine manly fellow like you to give such advice, but I am such a poor, miserable sort of—"
"Hallo, fasser!" cried a merry voice at that moment, "how red de sun am!"
The owner of the voice—a mere chip of a child, in perfect miniature middy costume—ran up to its father and was hoisted on his shoulder.
"Yes, the sun is very red, like your own face, Sammy, my boy, to say nothing of cousin Robin's. Where is mamma?"
The question was answered by mamma herself, our old friend Madge Mayland, coming up the com-
