crony of old Hugh. No doubt he would be at the dance that night.

Oh, if she could get speech for but a moment with him!
"When he had gone into the house, Ursula, turning impatiently from

the window, tripped and almost fell over the big ball of homespun
yarn her father had flung on the floor. For a moment she gazed at

it resentfully--then, with a gay little laugh, she pounced on it.
The next moment she was at her table, writing a brief note to

Kenneth MacNair. When it was written, Ursula unwound the gray
ball to a considerable depth, pinned the note on it, and rewound

the yarn over it. A gray ball, the color of the twilight, might
escape observation, where a white missive fluttering down from an

upper window would surely be seen by someone. Then she softly
opened her window and waited.

"It was dusk when Andrew went away. Fortunately old Hugh did not
come to the door with him. As Andrew untied his horse Ursula

threw the ball with such good aim that it struck him, as she had
meant it to do, squarely on the head. Andrew looked up at her

window. She leaned out, put her finger warningly on her lips,
pointed to the ball, and nodded. Andrew, looking somewhat

puzzled, picked up the ball, sprang to his saddle, and galloped
off.

"So far, well, thought Ursula. But would Andrew understand? Would
he have wit enough to think of exploring the big, knobby ball for

its delicate secret? And would he be at the dance after all?
"The evening dragged by. Time had never seemed so long to Ursula.

She could not rest or sleep. It was midnight before she heard the
patter of a handful of gravel on her window-panes. In a trice she

was leaning out. Below in the darkness stood Kenneth MacNair.
"'Oh, Kenneth, did you get my letter? And is it safe for you to be

here?'
"'Safe enough. Your father is in bed. I've waited two hours down

the road for his light to go out, and an extra half-hour to put
him to sleep. The horses are there. Slip down and out, Ursula.

We'll make Charlottetown by dawn yet.'
"'That's easier said than done, lad. I'm locked in. But do you

go out behind the new barn and bring the ladder you will find
there.'

"Five minutes later, Miss Ursula, hooded and cloaked, scrambled
soundlessly down the ladder, and in five more minutes she and

Kenneth were riding along the road.
"'There's a stiff gallop before us, Ursula,' said Kenneth.

"'I would ride to the world's end with you, Kenneth MacNair,' said
Ursula. Oh, of course she shouldn't have said anything of the

sort, Felicity. But you see people had no etiquette departments
in those days. And when the red sunlight of a fair October dawn

was shining over the gray sea The Fair Lady sailed out of
Charlottetown harbour. On her deck stood Kenneth and Ursula

MacNair, and in her hand, as a most precious treasure, the bride
carried a ball of gray homespun yarn."

"Well," said Dan, yawning, "I like that kind of a story. Nobody
goes and dies in it, that's one good thing."

"Did old Hugh forgive Ursula?" I asked.
"The story stopped there in the brown book," said the Story Girl,

"but the Awkward Man says he did, after awhile."
"It must be rather romantic to be run away with," remarked Cecily,

wistfully.
"Don't you get such silly notions in your head, Cecily King," said

Felicity, severely.
CHAPTER III

THE CHRISTMAS HARP
Great was the excitement in the houses of King as Christmas drew

nigh. The air was simply charged with secrets. Everybody was
very penurious for weeks beforehand and hoards were counted

scrutinizingly every day. Mysterious pieces of handiwork were
smuggled in and out of sight, and whispered consultations were

held, about which nobody thought of being jealous, as might have
happened at any other time. Felicity was in her element, for she

and her mother were deep in preparations for the day. Cecily and
the Story Girl were excluded from these doings with indifference

on Aunt Janet's part and what seemed ostentatious complacency on
Felicity's. Cecily took this to heart and complained to me about

it.
"I'm one of this family just as much as Felicity is," she said,

with as much indignation as Cecily could feel, "and I don't think
she need shut me out of everything. When I wanted to stone the

raisins for the mince-meat she said, no, she would do it herself,
because Christmas mince-meat was very particular--as if I couldn't

stone raisins right! The airs Felicity puts on about her cooking
just make me sick," concluded Cecily wrathfully.

"It's a pity she doesn't make a mistake in cooking once in a while
herself," I said. "Then maybe she wouldn't think she knew so much

more than other people."
All parcels that came in the mail from distant friends were taken

charge of by Aunts Janet and Olivia, not to be opened until the
great day of the feast itself. How slowly the last week passed!

But even watched pots will boil in the fulness of time, and
finally Christmas day came, gray and dour and frost-bitten

without, but full of revelry and rose-red mirth within. Uncle
Roger and Aunt Olivia and the Story Girl came over early for the

day; and Peter came too, with his shining, morning face, to be
hailed with joy, for we had been afraid that Peter would not be

able to spend Christmas with us. His mother had wanted him home
with her.

"Of course I ought to go," Peter had told me mournfully, "but we
won't have turkey for dinner, because ma can't afford it. And ma

always cries on holidays because she says they make her think of
father. Of course she can't help it, but it ain't cheerful. Aunt

Jane wouldn't have cried. Aunt Jane used to say she never saw the
man who was worth spoiling her eyes for. But I guess I'll have to

spend Christmas at home."
At the last moment, however, a cousin of Mrs. Craig's in

Charlottetown invited her for Christmas, and Peter, being given
his choice of going or staying, joyfully elected to stay. So we

were all together, except Sara Ray, who had been invited but whose
mother wouldn't let her come.

"Sara Ray's mother is a nuisance," snapped the Story Girl. "She
just lives to make that poor child miserable, and she won't let

her go to the party tonight, either."
"It is just breaking Sara's heart that she can't," said Cecily

compassionately. "I'm almost afraid I won't enjoy myself for
thinking of her, home there alone, most likely reading the Bible,

while we're at the party."
"She might be worse occupied than reading the Bible," said

Felicity rebukingly.
"But Mrs. Ray makes her read it as a punishment," protested

Cecily. "Whenever Sara cries to go anywhere--and of course she'll
cry tonight--Mrs. Ray makes her read seven chapters in the Bible.

I wouldn't think that would make her very fond of it. And I'll
not be able to talk the party over with Sara afterwards--and

that's half the fun gone."
"You can tell her all about it," comforted Felix.

"Telling isn't a bit like talking it over," retorted Cecily.
"It's too one-sided."

We had an exciting time opening our presents. Some of us had more
than others, but we all received enough to make us feel