Main  Contacts  
Table of contents
Coming Home
Old Friends with New Faces
Miss Campbell
Thorns Among the Roses
Prince Charming
Polishing Mac
Phebe
Breakers Ahead
New Year's Calls
The Sad and Sober Part
Small Temptations
At Kitty's Ball
Both Sides
Aunt Clara's Plan
Alas for Charlie!
Good Works
Among the Haycocks
Which Was It?
Behind the Fountain
What Mac Did
How Phebe Earned Her Welcome
Short and Sweet

days of air and sunshine put into a man, and the clear, bright look 

of one who had caught glimpses of a new world from the 

mountaintop. 

 

"Tramping agrees with me. I took a dip in the river as I came along 

and made my toilet in a place where Milton's Sabrina might have 

lived," he said, shaking back his damp hair and settling the knot of 

scarlet bunchberries stuck in his buttonhole. 

 

"You look as if you found the nymph at home," said Rose, 

knowing how much he liked the "Comus." 

 

"I found her here," and he made a little bow. 

 

"That's very pretty, and I'll give you one in return. You grow more 

like Uncle Alec every day, and I think I'll call you Alec, Jr." 

 

"Alexander the Great wouldn't thank you for that," and Mac did 

not look as grateful as she had expected. 

 

"Very like, indeed, except the forehead. His is broad and 

benevolent, yours high and arched. Do you know if you had no 

beard, and wore your hair long, I really think you'd look like 

Milton," added Rose, sure that would please him. 

 

It certainly did amuse him, for he lay back on the hay and laughed 

so heartily that his merriment scared the squirrel on the wall and 

woke Dulce. 

 

"You ungrateful boy! Will nothing suit you? When I say you look 

like the best man I know, you gave a shrug, and when I liken you 

to a great poet, you shout. I'm afraid you are very conceited, Mac." 

And Rose laughed, too, glad to see him so gay. 

 

"If I am, it is your fault. Nothing I can do will ever make a Milton 

of me, unless I go blind someday," he said, sobering at the thought. 

 

"You once said a man could be what he liked if he tried hard 

enough, so why shouldn't you be a poet?" asked Rose, liking to trip 

him up with his own words, as he often did her. 

 

"I thought I was to be an M.D." 

 

"You might be both. There have been poetical doctors, you know." 

 

"Would you like me to be such a one?" asked Mac, looking at her 

as seriously as if he really thought of trying it. 

 

"No. I'd rather have you one or the other. I don't care which, only 

you must be famous in either you choose. I'm very ambitious for 

you, because, I insist upon it, you are a genius of some sort. I think 


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