I must be tired, for you will be saying, dear uncle, that a yearning for peace has never been one of the most conspicuous of my attributes." There she fell to nibbling again, looking over at the girl in the deep garden chair in the choice corner of the big porch.

"My friend Ann Forrest!" Katie murmured, smiling strangely.
Her friend Ann Forrest was turning the leaves of a book, "Days in Florence," which Kate had left carelessly upon the arm of the chair she commended to Ann.

It was after watching her covertly for sometime that Katie set down, a little elf dancing in her eye, yet something of the seer in that very eye in which the elf danced: "Of course you have heard me tell of Ann, the girl to whom I was so devoted in Italy.

I should think, uncle, that you of the cloth would find Ann a most interesting subject.

Not that she's of your flock.