The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky. For what could be more ironical than for Howard Spurlock to see himself grow famous under the name of Taber? The ambrosia of which he had so happily dreamt!—and this gall and wormwood! He stood up and rapped his pipe on the rail. I never made any effort to touch them; so by and by they learned to light fearlessly on my arms and shoulders. “What have you been doing since our last talk? Still cutting up rabbits and probing into things? I’ve often thought of that talk of ours—often. ‘Now then, missie. “I have hurt my father,” she said; “I have hurt my aunt.
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