bers of some of the hymns: 103, "Crown Him"; 99, "When He Cometh!" Gee-rusalem!
As he turned into the road again from the churchyard, which smelt unmistakably of trampled strawberries, he saw a white-clad figure coming down the hill. It was a woman of fifty odd, slender, neat, a little dowdy, but exuding an air of timid allégresse that appealed to him. He would have recognized her had he met her in Zanzibar, for she had not changed, except to grow dryer. She was imperishable. One day a wind would, tout simplement, bear her away out of life, and she would primly draw down her skirts as she soared. She might have been made of tissue-paper. He took off his cap and stood barring the way, and she looked up, myopically, with a blush mantling her faded cheeks. She scarcely came up to his shoulder, and he remembered a Sunday morning when she had had to kneel down to knot his plaid Windsor tie for him.
"You don't recognize me, I'm afraid, Miss Todd."
She narrowed her eyes with diffident deliberation, then said: "No, I'm afraid I don't seem to."
"Of course," Paul sympathized. "On Dominion Day one sees such quantities of strangers."
"My memory is bad, I fear."
"Oh, don't say that. For if you fail to remember me I'll run away again and die of grief. And we were such good friends once. I had a habit of playing your accompaniments too fast, but you were very sweet about it."
Miss Todd stepped back, hesitated, then broke out, "You're never little Paul Minas."
"No—big Paul." To prove it he lifted her, kissed her gently and set her on her feet again.
Gurgling Gertrude was speechless, then voluble, and Paul stood answering her questions for several minutes. He found it more difficult to give an account of himself
