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 blade held its quota of quivering, shimmering gems. The bees had already begun their long day's task, and their drooning chant formed a musical background for the florid pæans of unseen birds. When he reached the edge of the little clearing, Miles's gaze darted eagerly toward the scene of yesterday's meeting. There again were the easel and the girl. But to-day the golden hair was hidden by the blue sun-bonnet, and Miles could see naught of the face which since the day before had filled his thoughts to the exclusion of all else.

"Good-morning," he called.

The sun-bonnet turned until the picture it framed was visible. A moment the girl looked at him in silence, and Miles felt a stab of disappointment; it was as though she were striving to recollect him. Then,—