that the flush of pleasure at meeting her was over, he looked tired and spiritless—­not sick, nor exactly unhappy, but older and graver than a year or two of prosperous life should have made him.  She couldn’t understand it and did not venture to ask questions, so she shook her head and touched up her ponies, as the procession wound away across the arches of the Paglioni bridge and vanished in the church.

“Que pensez-vous?” she said, airing her French, which had improved in quantity, if not in quality, since she came abroad.

“That mademoiselle has made good use of her time, and the result is charming,” replied Laurie, bowing with his hand on his heart and an admiring look.

She blushed with pleasure, but somehow the compliment did not satisfy her like the blunt praises he used to give her at home, when he promenaded round her on festival occasions, and told her she was ‘altogether jolly’, with a hearty smile and an approving pat on the head.  She didn’t like the new tone, for though not blase, it sounded indifferent in spite of the look.

“If that’s the way he’s going to grow up, I wish he’d stay a boy,” she thought, with a curious sense of disappointment and discomfort, trying meantime to seem quite easy and gay.

At Avigdor’s she found the precious home letters and, giving the reins to Laurie, read them luxuriously as they wound up the shady road between green hedges, where tea roses bloomed as freshly as in June.

“Beth is very poorly, Mother says.  I often think I ought to go home, but they all say ‘stay’.  So I do, for I shall never have another chance like this,” said Amy, looking sober over one page.

“I think you are right, there.  You could do nothing at home, and it is a great comfort to them to know that you are well and happy, and enjoying so much, my dear.”

He drew a little nearer, and looked more like his old self as he said that, and the fear that sometimes weighed on Amy’s heart was lightened, for the look, the act, the brotherly ‘my dear’, seemed to assure her that if any trouble did come, she would not be alone in a strange land.  Presently she laughed and showed him a small sketch of Jo in her scribbling suit, with the bow rampantly erect upon her cap, and issuing from her mouth the words, ’Genius burns!’.

Laurie smiled, took it, put it in his vest pocket ’to keep it from blowing away’, and listened with interest to the lively letter Amy read him.

“This will be a regularly merry Christmas to me, with presents in the morning, you and letters in the afternoon, and a party at night,” said Amy, as they alighted among the ruins of the old fort, and a flock of splendid peacocks came trooping about them, tamely waiting to be fed.  While Amy stood laughing on the bank above him as she scattered crumbs to the brilliant birds, Laurie looked at her as she had looked at him, with a natural curiosity to see what changes time and absence had wrought.  He