an excellent private boarding place. We made the change immediately, finding it quite to our liking.
One evening we were sitting on the wide veranda enjoying the magnificent view of the bay. I was so absorbed that I did not miss Bixbee until I heard his voice in earnest conversation on the lawn adjoining. Looking in that direction I saw him walking about with a pretty child's hand in his own and listening to her prattle with evident enjoyment.
"Where are you, Edith?" called a sweet-looking woman as she came around the house with an armful of roses.
Before Bixbee could lift his hat the woman dropped her flowers and, with a sharp cry of "Harrison !" fell to the ground. Bixbee was plainly worried over the affair.
"Dick, I do not like this resemblance business," he confided to me. "Isn't it strange no oue ever noticed it at college? I feel that I owe an apology to that poor little woman."
In the weeks that followed he consumed much of his time in apologizing to Mrs. Ludlow or to consoling her. His visits grew longer and more frequent, till I was quite prepared for his announcement, "Mary — I mean Mrs. Ludlow — has promised to become my wife."
So impatient was Bixbee for the wedding that it took place very soon. I acted as best man, and later became a member of the Bixbee household as boarder and confidential friend.
There was no doubt that Bixbee was very happy or that he adored both wife and child. Yet occasionally a shadow rested on his face for which I could not ac- count till a few months after his marriage.
Mrs. Bixbee was sewing near me on the porch while her husband, closely fol- lowed by Edith, was gardening a little about the yard. She sighed as she said:
"How much John reminds me of Harrison. Sometimes I am really startled by the similarity, and a few times I have been so indiscreet as to mention it to John. I fear he feels I married him because of the resemblance only. And occasionally I wonder if such were not the case. I can not tell, I am sure."
Feeling rather indisposed one forenoon in the sixth month since Bixbee's marriage, I preceded him to lunch at the house. I lay on the couch in the back parlor when I heard his latch key.
"That you, John?" I lazily asked without rising as he came into the room. He stopped quickly with a surprised "I beg your pardon."
"I was feeling rather knocked out, so I did not wait for you,^' I answered.
"I beg your pardon," he repeated. "I don't quite understand. Are you a friend of Mary's?"
His wife came down the stairs melodiously humming an old love song. An expression of relief crossed his face and he wiped the big drops from his forehead.
"Thank God, Mary, you are here. I fear I am going to be ill. I am surely laboring under a terrible delusion. As I came home just now everything seemed changed since morning — new buildings, improvements on the streets, and not a familiar face. I thought I must have lost my mind."
The postman's whistle sounded unheeded by either. I went to the door and received a letter for Mrs. Bixbee, which I gave her. Bixbee, standing close by her, read the superscription.
"Mrs. John Bixbee," he exclaimed. "The postman has made a mistake. Here, let me have the letter and I will return it as he leaves the next house."
He snatched it hastily, but she laid a detaining hand on his arm. "It is mine, John."
"John," he repeated. "Are you, too, losing your mind that you should for- get my name is Harrison?"
I was dumb with astonishment; but the wife gently drew Bixbee to the couch, and placing her arm lovingly in his, softly said:
"Dearest, tell us what you mean. Are you not John Bixbee?" "
