“AND you will really send Reuben to cut down that clump of pines?”

“Yes, Margaret.  Well, now, it is necessary, for more reasons than”——­

“Don’t tell me so, John,” impetuously interrupted Margaret Greylston.  “I am sure there is no necessity in the case, and I am sorry to the very heart that you have no more feeling than to order those trees to be cut down.”

“Feeling! well, maybe I have more than you think; yet I don’t choose to let it make a fool of me, for all that.  But I wish you would say no more about those trees, Margaret; they really must come down; I have reasoned with you on this matter till I am sick of it.”

Miss Greylston got up from her chair, and walked out on the shaded porch; then she turned and called her brother.

“Will you come here, John?”

“And what have you to say?”

“Nothing, just now; I only want you to stand here and look at the old pines.”

And so John Greylston did; and he saw the distant woods grave and fading beneath the autumn wind—­while the old pines upreared their stately heads against the blue sky, unchanged in beauty, fresh and green as ever.

“You see those trees, John, and so do I; and standing here, with them full in view, let me plead for them; they are very old, those pines, older than either of us; we played beneath them when we were children; but there is still a stronger tie:  our mother loved them—­our dear, sainted mother.  Thirty years it has been since she died, but I can never forget or cease to love anything she loved.  Oh!  John, you remember just as well as I do, how often she would sit beneath those trees and read or talk sweetly to us; and of the dear band who gathered there with her, only we are left, and the old pines.  Let them stand, John; time enough to cut them down when I have gone to sit with those dear ones beneath the trees of heaven;” and somewhat breathless from long talking, Miss Margaret paused.

John Greylston was really touched, and he laid his hand kindly on his sister’s shoulder.

“Come, come, Madge, don’t talk so sadly.  I remember and love those things as well as you do, but then you see I cannot afford to neglect my interests for weak sentiment.  Now the road must be made, and that clump of trees stand directly in its course, and they must come down, or the road will have to take a curve nearly half a mile round, striking into one of my best meadows, and a good deal more expense this will be, too.  No, no,” he continued, eagerly, “I can’t oblige you in this thing.  This place is mine, and I will improve it as I please.  I have kept back from making many a change for your sake, but just here I am determined to go on.”  And all this was said with a raised voice and a flushed face.

“You never spoke so harshly to me in your life before, John, and, after all, what have I done?  Call my feelings on this matter weak sentiment, if you choose, but it is hard to hear such words from your lips;” and, with a reproachful sigh, Miss Margaret walked into the house.