had taken advantage of its shelter, and Mr. Forestier had ordered it to be locked up. Only his widow, the Herewards, and the tenants of Riding Wood Farm had keys, so far as Rose knew. The Herewards because they were intimate friends as well as neighbours, and loved the view, and the Barnards because it was one of Tom's duties to look into the tower rooms now and then, and see that the place was kept in repair. Before Poppet was born, Rose used to go up with him by moonlight sometimes, and hand in hand they would look out over the blue and silver world, telling each other that they were the happiest couple in it, as romantically as if they had been poets, instead of farmers. But now, Mrs. Barnard, though just as happy and loving, took life a little more prosaically. That was why she preferred her own arbour and her own view, and never went to the tower by moonlight or any other light.
"Mummy, here comes Craigie," chirped Poppet, looking up from her doll's blouse, and down through the pergola toward the gate.
"Does she? But you mustn't say Craigie. You must say Miss Craigie, or Miss Kate," the child's mother corrected her, as she transferred a pile of socks and stockings from her lap to the seat, preparatory to greeting the visitor.
"Why?" Poppet wanted to know, looking up with large, grave, brown eyes like her father's. "Every-
