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offered. Outdoor life provides a haven of rest and recuperation for those overtaxed or worn out.

The fragrant forests and environments make it a natural sanitarium. The odors from the noble pine and fragrant balsam are constantly inhaled, while the purity and curative properties of the waters make Michigan the ideal resort for sufferers from various maladies or indispositions.

A vacation there means increased vitality and development of physique, the building up of tired nerves, the better enjoyment of the things of this life.

It was no easy task for this gentle lady, but she stuck to it bravely.

Soon the fragrant odor of the pines, the medicinal waters and the exercise in the open air slowly awakened within her bosom a spark of renewed life. She began to take an interest in things, to enjoy her walk in the for ests, her bathing in the streams, and to become better acquainted with the invigorating forces of nature.

CA change took place. Within a few short weeks she became a new woman-new in her physical being and new in her understanding of the great gifts bestowed by nature upon those

Enchanted with her surroundings, she and several friends bought 84 acres at a very low cost. They dredged the river, located on the famous Inland Route, and built an island on which she and her friends erected houses where they now enjoy life during the summer and fall months. It is a beautiful spot, only a few short miles from Cheboygan, near Mullet Lake, surrounded by fragrant woods, dashing streams and a cultivated farm, all of which supply food for their table. The name of this beauty spot is YeQua-Ga-Mak, in the Indian language

Nature has done much in other respects for other states, but in Michigan it has done everything in the way of recreation and health-building by offering opportunities to those whose nerves are shattered, whose body is ill, whose blood runs thin.

When nature offers these bounteous gifts, why not accept them?

AUL Feveril does look depressed," said Mrs. Norman Sterry, with a lift of her eyelashes toward Veronica North. "He has not got over it, evidently." ¶ "Does it take a week," questioned Bertred Weston, "to get over a grande passion ?"

"A day, with most people," languidly answered Mrs. Sterry. "But, then, Paul is unusual. He loves with

his brain as well as his-heart; and Mrs. Coppy is very intellectual."

"Is he Mrs. Coppinger's?" put in their hostess, carelessly. "I thought Mr. Feveril was unappropriated."

"My dear Lady Algitha, it's quite ancient history," drawled Mrs. Sterry. "She has gone abroad until May, and he is inconsolable. It is unlucky; he might, otherwise, marry money and retrieve his fallen fortunes."

"Perhaps he will," said Bertred, laughing mischievously.

"I dare say," Mrs. Sterry assented, with a yawn; "but the girl will have to be contented with a second-hand heart."

That was all. An idle tale, originating in jealousy, and without a grain of truth in it.

But Veronica, escaping from the poison of their tongues, with a catch in her breath, realized suddenly what this week of ompanionship with Paul Feveril had een to her, and decided that she woul be neither a consolation nor an investment.

And this he had been carefully demonstrating to him during the day, emphasizing i by accepting the atten

tions Alwyn Weston was always ready to pay her.

So the pretty little castle of cards they had bee building together during the Christmas visit had tumbled about their ears with one malicious breath from Mrs. Sterry!

¶ "Come and help us, Mr. Feveril," said Bertred Weston, as he rejoined them. "We want a word to rhyme with 'light.' 'Sight,' 'might,' 'tight' ¶ "Knight,'" he suggested.

"Yes, that will do. Some one must dress up in armor and bid farewell to his lady fair, who can tie her badge on his arm. Veronica, you must be the damsel. You are in the right sort of dress."

"I'll be the knight," exclaimed Alwyn, leading the way to the hall. "Here, lend us a hand with this cuirass! I don't know what size those beggars could have been," he remarked, discontentedly, after a frantic struggle. "The blooming thing won't meet. Can't some one lace it up the back with string?"

But this inspiration was vetoed. "Let Mr. Feveril put it on," said Bertred; "he is slimmer than you. The knights of old were spare men and fought on one meal a day."

A minute later Paul was standing stiffly arrayed in the plate armor worn by Sir Ughtred Weston at Bosworth, while Col. Grierson, mounted on a chair, was trying to force a reluctant helmet to descend into its place.

"Hold on, old chap," protested Paul;

"this casque wasn't built for a man of my size. It's simply suffocating me. I shall get a swelled head if you dress me up like this."

But the chorus of voices drowned his remonstrance, and an officious hand pulled his visor down and fastened the collar.

The door was opened, and Veronica preceded him into the room, while the storm of applause that greeted his appearance showed that the word was correct.

¶ But, as he turned to go, a strange dizziness came over him, and the room went around. He reached the door and stumbled through the hall to the library, putting his hand up to his neck in a vain effort to undo his helmet and release himself.

And Veronica, watching him, saw him sway, stagger, and then fall headlong to the floor.

She was at his side in an instant, struggling with trembling fingers to undo the rusty clasp of his helmet. But the thing gripped like a vise, and all her strength could not move it.

"Come here quickly, Mr. Weston!" she called, as Alwyn crossed the hall. "Mr. Feveril has fainted."

"My God!" he said, as he, too wrestled with all his strength, "the helmet is too small for him. I can't get it undone. Ring for some one-quick-we must force it open!"

Two minutes more before the butler had fetched the tools, and then another futile attempt to make the collar fastening yield or the pivot of the visor work.

And to Veronica, kneeling on the floor beside Paul, it seemed an eternity of agony. "He is dead," she was saying to herself, "and I have been so cruel to him."

"Send for a doctor and fetch her ladyship here," said Alwyn to the butler. "Now, Miss North, will you hold this down with all your strength while I try to lever it apart?"

One more strenuous effort, and the

collar yielded and opened. Veronica. gave a low cry of joy. "Now we can get it off," she said.

But a ribbed, discolored line round the throat where it was swelled with the pressure still held the casque in its place, and a spreading crimson stain on one side showed that there was some hidden injury.

"We must get the visor up or he will be suffocated," said Alwyn.

Yet more precious moments were spent before the visor was lifted.

There was no sign of life in the livid face, the swollen, purple lips, the closed eyes sunk in gray hollows. Veronica's heart gave a great leap of pain.

How quickly the comedy had changed to tragedy!

Some one put her aside and took her place, and she listened as if in a dream to the doctor's curt, rapid directions.

"It must be got off," she heard him say, "at any cost."

Then there was silence, and presently a sharp exclamation from Alwyn and a stir in the group around the prostrate figure.

"Now a basin of water and some brandy, and one of you lift his head and support it so; I want to get at this side of it.

Lady Algitha had moved across to Veronica and had put her arm round the girl's rigid figure. "Don't despair, dear," she whispered. "I think it will be all right." For one look at Veronica's face had revealed its secret, and Lady Algitha had a kind heart hidden under her crust of modernity.

They stood together for some moments, and then, with the first sound of Paul's voice, faint, broken, questioning, Veronica broke into tears and sobbed her heart out quietly on Lady Algitha's shoulder.

"Will you tell me why you accused me of being an excellent actor?" asked Paul a week later. He was lying on the sofa with his head swathed in ban

"Yes. I told Lady Algitha just now that I refused to be a burden on her hospitality any longer. I am going to town tomorrow. I have learned a very bitter lesson here."

She knelt down beside him. "You are not well enough to travel yet," she said, reproachfully. "Please put it off, Mr. Feveril."

"More Christian charity?" he asked. "There is another name for-charity," she said softly. C"Veronica!"

"That night," she went on; "that dreadful night, I asked your forgiveness in my heart over and over again. If you had died—”

¶ "Tell me—-quickly!"

"I should never have forgiven myself-I should never have been happy any more.

C "Veronica, I am a poor man, and I love you more even than my pride. Don't tempt me."

But she only laid her head down on his shoulder, and, after a minute, he put his arms around her.

We need to live-for life is more
Than eating, drinking, wearing,
Than seeking pleasures door to door,
And hither, thither, faring.
By artificial dress and speech

We teach the world to doubt us,
And cry for riches out of reach
While joy lies all about us.

We need to love-for love is more Than drinking, wearing, eating, The outer mortal striving for,

The inner mortal cheating. The tinsel things of life we clutch While skies are blue above us, While here beside us at our touch Are those who long to love us.