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FLAMING

YOUTH

“Any promise I made you I’d keep, living or dead. What would I do with the letters if I did write?” “You know the built-in desk-safe in my room? You could put them there. You'll have the combination, for you’re to be executor of my will. There’s a large drawer at the bottom. . . . Of course it’s all foolishness. But— won’t you?” “You know [ll do anything you ask.” “Yes;

I know.

Poor

old Bob!

Write

me

about

all

the girls; but principally Pat, just as if she were yours, too; all that you’d hope for her and fear for her; her problems and growth and dangers. She'll have ’em. Perhaps I'll come back, a haunt, and read your letters— you must make ’em very wise, Bob—and whisper your wisdom in the ear of Pat’s queer little soul, and warn her

if need be. . . . Bob, do you know what I really want for the girls?” “T might guess.” “Not goodness; that’s for plain girls. Nor virtue, particularly; that’s more or less of a scarecrow.

I want

happiness for them.” “Only a little, easy thing like that?’ he taunted gently. “Well, Pve had it; a lot of it.

‘I’ve taken my fun where

I found it.? Bob, ’m a pagan thing! And perhaps after !?ve gone where the good pagans go, I'll send word back to you and invite you to follow—if it’s a proper place for a dear old fogy like you. It may not be an orthodox heaven, old boy. But there'll be something doing if Mona goes there!” But it was not until six months later and from her own house that lovely, pagan Mona Fentriss went to her own place. Went with an expectant soul and a smile on her lips, unafraid in the face of the great, dim Guess as she had been in every threat that life had held over her,