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Sidney and K Le Moyne sat under a tree and talked In Sidney's lap lay a

small pasteboard box, punched with inald, but she had not yet been able to bring herself to the point of

separation Now and then a furry nose protruded from one of the apertures

and sniffed the welcome scent of pine and buttonball, red and white clover,

the thousand spicy odors of field and woodland

"And so," said K Le Moyne, "you liked it all? It didn't startle you?"

"Well, in one way, of course--you see, I didn't knoas quite like

that: all order and peace and quiet, and white beds and whispers, on

top,--you knohat I one through a hospital?"

K Le Moyne was stretched out on the grass, his arms under his head For

this excursion to the end of the street-car line he had donned a pair of

white flannel trousers and a belted Norfolk coat Sidney had been divided

between pride in his appearance and fear that the Street would deem him

overdressed

At her question he closed his eyes, shutting out the peaceful arch and the

bit of blue heaven overhead He did not reply at once

"Good gracious, I believe he's asleep!" said Sidney to the pasteboard box

But he opened his eyes and smiled at her