Everybody agreed that the weather was remarkable that fall; far into November it lasted warm and bright, and Walter Grayson who found life more endurable under the open sky than within four walls, spent a large part of each day out of doors attended by his faithful Thompson.

Caro’s visit had stirred anew his longing for the old companionships that had once been his. When at length after their long absence they had decided to come home, he had looked forward to it almost eagerly, but his sister whose pride shrank from sympathy took it for granted that to meet his old acquaintances could be only painful to him, and those who had ventured to call were not admitted.

Walter was in the habit of acquiescing in her decisions, and in the first shock of his illness he had felt the same shrinking from pity, but now the sense of loneliness was becoming almost unbearable. As he was wheeled about the garden he lived over again the merry days of his childhood, and the quarrel that had separated him from those he had cared most for, seemed a small matter in the light of these memories.

The Graysons had long been people of wealth and influence in Charmington, and in Miss Elizabeth’s opinion it was a direct insult when her wishes were ignored and the beauty of the avenue which had been named for her grandfather was, as she thought, forever ruined. That her personal friends could side against her, added to the bitterness. She refused to see that Dr. Barrows was not responsible for his brother’s actions, and proudly withdrew her friendship from the whole family, and her gifts from the seminary.

No doubt her grief over her brother made her more bitter than she would otherwise have been; at least so Dr. Barrows thought, and would not speak ill of her.

Walter upon whom she lavished everything affection could suggest, or money buy, felt that he could not ask for the only thing he really wanted. And at times he told himself despondently that he was forgotten, that his friends no longer cared for him.

Caro’s simple friendliness had won his heart, the possibility of seeing her again added a little interest to his lonely life; and Thompson too, seeing the good effect of her visit, was on the watch for her.

When one afternoon they saw her in her scarlet jacket, looking over the garden wall, Walter waved his hand and Thompson grinned broadly over the back of the chair, while Caro nodded and smiled in response, quite as if they had been old friends.

“Don’t you want to see your picture?” Walter asked; “they are on the library table, Thompson,” he added.

As the man went off Caro swung her feet over on the Grayson side of the fence, and then in another minute she had slipped down and was beside Walter’s chair. “I mustn’t stay long,” she said. “Marjorie has gone to the dentist’s and I told her I’d wait till she came back.”

“How is the cat?”“He is very well, thank you, but he has been bad. He stole a bird.”

“You don’t say so!”

“Yes, and so have I.”

“You don’t mean you have stolen a bird?”

Caro laughed. “Of course not; I wouldn’t steal, but Marjorie and Tom and I jumped all the feathers out of Aunt Charlotte’s bed.”

“What naughty children,” said Walter smiling.

“Yes,” agreed Caro with a sigh, “and I meant to be good while grandpa was away. I promised him I’d try to be a candle and then I forgot.”

“What do you mean by being a candle?”

“Oh—being pleasant and nice to Aunt Charlotte and Jane,—not making trouble you know. The feathers were all over the front lawn and Mrs. Rice thought it was snowing.” Caro laughed a little at the recollection.

“Grandpa said the best way to be a candle was to love people, and I do love him ever so much, but I don’t love Jane. I love Aunt Charlotte too, but she doesn’t like to talk to me, so I miss grandpa.”“I know how that is. I too wish sometimes for someone to talk to,” Walter replied.

Here Thompson appeared with the photographs, and everything else was forgotten.

“They are a little too grave,” Walter said, comparing them with the glowing face beside him; “We must try again sometime.”

“And let’s have Trolley in it too,” Caro suggested.

“Why certainly, that is a good idea. Do you know Caro you remind me of my little sister.”

“Do you mean Annette?”

“Why what can you know about her?” Walter asked in surprise.

“Grandpa told me. I asked him who lived in your house—and then I saw her window in the chapel—the Good Shepherd you know. Grandpa said she was a dear little girl. Do I truly look like her!”

“Yes, there is something in your face and smile that is like her;” Walter looked thoughtfully at the picture.

“Won’t you please tell me about her?” begged Caro.

And so while Thompson wheeled his master up and down the garden paths, she walked beside him and listened to the story of those days when the gate now nailed up was always open, and merry girls and boys ran back and forth.

“What nice times you did have!” Caro exclaimed, pressing the palms of her hands together. “I wish we could do some of those lovely things. Couldn’t we have a picnic and have a fire and roast potatoes and corn?”

Her interest was a pleasant thing to the invalid; he laughed at the eager face; “Well, why can’t we?” he said. “What do you think Thompson?”

“Why of course we can, sir, if you like,” was the answer.

“And have Marjorie and Tom?” cried Caro eagerly.

It seemed impossible to refuse her, but when he thought of it afterwards Walter began to doubt if he had been wise. What would his sister think—or the Barrows, when it was discovered that he had been entertaining the children in the garden? Still it was too late now—he had promised.

As for Caro no doubts spoiled her anticipation. She gave Marjorie a most animated account of the pleasure in store for them, and her cousin was as interested as she could wish.

“It will be lovely, Caro, and we’ll keep it a secret,” she said, for there was nothing Marjorie liked so well as a mystery.

Finding Tom, they proceeded to excite his curiosity.

“Say—don’t you wish you knew what we are going to do to-morrow?” they both exclaimed.

“What are you going to do?” he asked, pulling his ear and realizing that he was about to be teased.

“We can’t tell, but it is something awfully nice,” said Caro, “Isn’t it Marjorie?”

“Isn’t it though!” and the two looked knowingly at each other.

“There’s going to be something to eat,” Marjorie added.

“A candy pulling, I bet,” cried Tom.

“No indeed!” they both cried.

After carrying this on for half an hour and goading Tom to the point of desperation, Marjorie said, “If you’ll promise honest truly you won’t tell you can come over to-morrow and maybe we’ll let you into it.”“Truly I won’t tell,” Tom promised, brightening.

“Do you think you’d let him into it Caro? He might spoil it.”

“Oh I guess so,” Caro replied, and they ran off leaving him alone with his curiosity.

All this mystery added not a little to the delights of the picnic next day in the Grayson garden, and certainly for its size there was never a merrier one.

Tom was a little uncomfortable at first, for Marjorie’s dark hints about the garden had impressed him deeply, but he soon recovered from this and helped Thompson make a fire on the very spot where Charlie and Walter had built theirs in days gone by.

The children thought nothing ever tasted so good as the corn roasted there; there were grapes and apples besides and some fascinating bon-bons, but the corn was the most fun, they insisted.

Not being in the habit of providing for such feasts Thompson forgot the salt, and Marjorie and Caro had the excitement of running to the house and having the cook inquire what they were going to do with salt.On a seat made of a plank supported on bricks the three children sat and feasted and chattered, while Walter looked on and enjoyed the experience of acting once more as host.

Everybody knows the peculiar pleasure of a fire out of doors; the day was cool enough to make its warmth agreeable, and the sight and sound of the crackling flames was like a tonic to the spirits.

After the feast was over they played games, such as “I have a word that rhymes with—” and “My ship comes sailing—.”

They asked conundrums, and Thompson showed himself to be an accomplished sleight-of-hand man, finding silver dollars in impossible places, and making handkerchiefs appear and disappear, in a surprising manner. Never was more fun crowded into one short afternoon.

“It has been a beautiful picnic, and I am very much obliged to you,” Caro said to Walter as they were separating.

“So am I,” echoed Marjorie, and Tom would have said the same if he hadn’t been bashful, as it was he could only grin.

“I am just as much obliged to you for coming to my picnic,” Walter replied, and he added to Caro, “Goodby little Candle.” This was the first time in more than four years that he had given any pleasure to anybody, he thought on the way to the house.

Miss Elizabeth stood at the door: “Surely Walter you are staying out too late,” she said: “Are you not chilled?”

“Not at all; you can trust Thompson for that,” he answered.

As for Thompson, he wished Miss Grayson could have seen her brother as he told stories and laughed at the pranks of his visitors, and he determined that if he could bring it about there should be more occasions of the sort.