Andrew the Glad

Phoebe and Polly had come to summon her back to the club; tea was on the

brew. With the intensest hospitality they invited Andrew to come, too.

But he declined with what grace he could and made his way through the

tangle down-stream as they walked back under the beeches.

Thus a very bitter thing had come to Andrew Sevier--and sweet as the

pulse of heaven. In his hand he had seen a sensitive flower unfold to its

very heart of flame.

"Never let her know," he prayed, "never let her know."