D

EAR lady, can you tell me which train to take? I want to go to Cambridge."

Marion turned from the merry group of young ladies standing on the platform to the person speaking, and saw by her side a sweet-faced old lady who seemed to be nervous and troubled and unsettled in her mind where to go.

"Did you say you were going to Cambridge?" said Marion.

"Yes, indeed," said the old lady, brightly. "It's Dick's Class Day at Harvard, and I am going there to surprise him. He wanted his mother and me to come, but his mother is sick and couldn't go. I wrote him that we would have to give it up, but I just can't, so here I am; and I am going to see Harvard if I can only find the way."

"Have you bought your ticket?" asked Marion.

"Yes, here it is."

"Well, here's our train. You stay with me, and I will see that you get there all right, for I am going to Harvard Class Day, too."

As they entered a parlor car, the old lady exclaimed:

"I am afraid my ticket isn't for this car. This must cost more."

"It won't cost you any more. Papa decided to go last night, for he wanted to be sure that everything was all right. Brother Lawrence graduates this year, and we are all going to his spread. You can have papa's chair and then I can look out for you."

"How kind you are to care for an old lady like me, and a stranger, too."

"Please don't think of it," said Marion. "I would want some one to look out for my grandmother, if I had one. Mine died last year. She, too, looked

forward to going to this Class Day, but it was not permitted."

During this time the merry party were locating themselves. One young man opposite, Dan Goodrich, seemed to be interested in one of the young ladies. He was dressed in the height of fashion, and had an air as if he owned the car, and every one ought to consider his wishes. He was just remarking to Alice Wentworth that he never saw a young lady like Marion Adams. She always had a dog, a cat, an old lady, newsboy, or some detestable creature to look out for. Marion had gone forward to speak to one of the party, so did not hear this remark, and Alice feared that the old lady might hear, but Dan did not seem to feel anxious.

"Oh, she's probably deaf as an adder; they most always are," said he. "I can't admire Marion's taste, but she has money galore, and everything she does is all right in people's eyes.'

"I think Marion does everything with an honest purpose," said Alice, valiantly.

"Perhaps she does," said Dan, “but I have found the people you do the most for are the least grateful. Now, my father just about ran one family, just waited upon them by inches, supported them, in fact; and when the father died, he went to the wife and offered his advice and help, as he was a lawyer, and knew all about her husband's affairs. I think he could have managed her, but an old lady of a grandmother butted in and told him his room was better than his company, and ordered him to take the next train for New York. She stood guard like an Ajax, and wouldn't even let him see the wife. Now what do you think

of that for gratitude? My father could have been of great assistance to her."

A smothered moan from the old lady gave them both a start, but, as they glanced her way, they saw that she was looking interestedly out of the window.

Marion's return changed the conversation to other subjects, and Dan went into the smoker to see some boon companions.

The old lady turned to Marion, asking who the young man was who had just gone out.

"Dan Goodrich," said Marion.

"Is his father a New York lawyer?" "Yes."

"Where does he live?"

"I think my father is one; and if you are in any trouble, I wish you would go to him."

"What's his name?"

"Samuel T. Adams; and my name is Marion Adams."

"Oh, isn't this strange?" said the old lady. "He told us to go to him.” "Who told you?"

"Dick's father, just before he died. He said, if we ever found the paper, to go to Lawyer Samuel T. Adams, for he thought he was an honest lawyer. Oh, dear, I can't wait to see Dick. When will we get to Cambridge?"

"We shall be there very soon. Your ticket takes you to Boston, but arrangements have been made for this

Street."

Grandmother gave a sigh. "Aren't you feeling well?" asked Marion, as she saw the old lady turn pale and tremble.

"I am all right, but I was just thinking of by-gone days. Is that young man engaged to that lovely lady?"

"Rumor says he is, but Alice has not mentioned it yet."

"Why, what's the matter with him? He's rich, and that's what most young ladies seem to think of now-a-days."

"He may be rich to-day, but how about to-morrow? There's many a slip, you know, and then what would she have to lean upon? A strong breath instead of a strong arm. No! No! She's a pretty miss; tell her to wait a little while; something may turn up."

"Do you know him?" said Marion. Just then the porter came in to announce dinner, and the old lady did not answer. Marion invited her to go with her to the dining car, but she refused, saying she had brought a little lunch with her. The porter soon returned, however, bringing her a cup of tea which she found quite refreshing.

The old lady's words perplexed Marion, and when she returned, she found her in deep thought, and inquired what troubled her.

"I wish I knew an honest lawyer," said the old lady.

are to meet our party. As your Dick does not know that you are coming, you can get off with us, and drive there without any trouble; and then you won't get so tired. This afternoon and evening will be very strenuous, even for young people; and you want to keep all the strength you can." "I can never thank you for your kindness, Miss Marion."

Station after station were passed, and soon Marion exclaimed, as she caught a glimpse of Memorial Hall in the distance:

"We shall be there in just a few moments, I want you to take some of my pinks, and then you will look as gay and festive as the rest of us."

Wraps were picked up, the train. came to a stop, and in the hustle and confusion the old lady found herself in the little station, clinging to Marion's arm and surrounded by a bevy of young ladies and young men. One Harvard student in cap and gown, who seemed to be quite a favorite, rushed up to Marion, saying:

"This is glorious; I'm so glad to see you. Lawrence had so much to look after, I told him I would take his place and come for you."

Marion blushed and did not seem displeased. The old lady, startled by the sound of his voice, gave him a sharp look and exclaimed, brokenly: "Dick! Oh, Dick! is it you?"

"But how is this, Mr. Dexter? She calls you Dick, and I never dreamed she was speaking about any one that I knew."

"That was his pet name that we always called him by when he was a little boy at home, and mother and I still cling to it," said the old lady.

Carriages were soon taking the party off for the festivities. Mr. Dexter and Marion saw that every one was cared for; then, taking Dick's grandmother with them, entered the last carriage, and started for the Harvard Yard. The old lady was so excited she could hardly speak; but just as they reached the dormitory, Marion saw Dick's startled face, as she heard the old lady say to him in a stage whisper, as he was helping her out of the carriage:

"I found the paper, Dick."

Marion had only time to say to him, as he assisted her out:

"Something seems to trouble your grandmother. Don't hesitate to call upon my father, if he can be of any assistance to you."

Everything was excitement and merriment. Marion took the grandmother to the room prepared for her, and was soon arrayed in a lovely gown which made her look like an angel, grandma said.

"I brought my best black silk," said she. "Shall I put it on now?"

Marion told her, "Yes," and helped her dress, arranged her beautiful white hair, put a finishing touch here and there, and a bunch of pinks at her waist; then exclaimed:

"There, you look like a fairy Godmother. Now we are all ready for the fray."

The day was perfect, not a cloud in the sky. Every one was happy. The sound of music floated in at the window. Men were hurrying from all quarters to join their separate classes, preparatory to the march around the Yard to cheer the respective dormitories before going to the exercises at the Stadium; where grandmother found herself right in the center, immediately back of the Prsident's seat; where she could see and hear everything (for she was not deaf as Dan supposed).

How she enjoyed the music, the cheering, the speeches; but when the battle with the confetti began, she was like a child, shouting with laughter, clapping her hands, and even joining in the fray; especially when she saw Dick and Lawrence, who laughed heartily when they saw her enthusiasm. She was fairly showered with bits of confetti; and she exclaimed excitedly:

"Oh, I wish Dick's mother could see this."

The spread followed, the President's reception must be attended, and in the evening she must see Memorial Hall. Was she too tired to go there? Oh, no. She wouldn't miss that. She seemed to have renewed her girlhood; and when Dick led her across the floor, and the strains of a waltz came from the orchestra, she fairly tripped.

"Would you like to take a turn with me, grandma? You know you taught me the waltz."

"Oh, yes," she exclaimed, excitedly; and, unmindful of other eyes, they floated across the floor.

It was a picture long to be remembered, the young man in cap and gown, just about to enter a new life; the sweet-faced old lady, surrounded by a halo of white hair, thinking of her youth. It was harmony of motion; and almost instantly every eye was centered upon them. The orchestra played softly; and for a moment there seemed to be a spell of enchantment, as if grandina were dancing the minuet; and when Dick, fearing to tire her, led her one side, a storm of hand clapping ran through the hall which

startled them both; and grandma exclaimed:

"Who has come? pened?"

What has hap

Dick was planning to remain and

She was allowed to rest a few moments and watch the other dancers who soon filled the floor, then Dick led her to her room, tired and happy; but not before Lawyer Adams had said he would meet them at ten the next morning.

At the appointed time the lawyer came, and grandma told him how Lawyer Goodrich had made plot after plot, and swindled Dick's father; and, because a certain paper was lost, had taken possession of Dick's old home. The grief and disappointment had caused the father's death.

Grandma told him that she wanted some lining to fix her wrap, and not feeling she could buy it, had taken an old coat of father's that had been laid away. As she was ripping the garment, she felt something inside the coat, and found the long lost paper which had slipped through the pocket, which had afterwards been mended, leaving the paper safe inside. Upon examination, there were found one or two other papers, which were also im

Lawyer Adams said he would be needed in New York. As Lawyer Adams was about to leave, Dick asked falteringly if he could speak to Marion upon a subject very dear to his heart.

"I have loved her for years, but never dared to tell her, for I had no position nor money, and little to offer her."

Lawyer Adams gave his permission readily and heartily, saying:

"I will leave that to you and Marion to arrange."

When they reached New York, Lawyer Goodrich was speedily taken care of with the use of the important papers.

Dick returned to his former home, and a year later a mansion in New York was brilliantly lighted. The bride and groom were receiving congratulations.

A sweet-faced old lady stepped up to the happy couple and said, in an undertone:

"I'm just as happy as I can be, and it's all because grandma went to Harvard Class Day."

waves.

UT of the swirling mist and the driving rain comes a shrill scream. It seems born of the wind and the Now high and piercing, now half drowned by the ring of the bell buoy which guards the ledges off Fisher's Island. Is it a peri or a naiad, or some curious singing fish strayed from southern waters? None of these, but the whistle of Osprey, the brave fish-hawk as he sweeps up to his home bearing a glistening haddock which he has just captured. And what a strange home it is that these birds have chosen!

On the twenty-first of March if you had been up early and looking toward the south you might have seen two fine hawks sailing up on their broad, tireless wings.

"Oh, what luck! Hurrah! Hurrah!" you would have heard the fishermen's children shout. "The fish-hawks have come! Spring is here!" And you would

have seen the fishermen themselves joyfully bring forth their dories and their nets in preparation for the season's first catch.

"Shall we dwell on the buoy this summer?" asks Osprey. "I see the winter storms have made sad havoc with our nest."

"Indeed we will," replies his mate. "What spot on land, even though 'twere a barren peak just lifted above the tides, could compare with this sea cradle rocked by every passing swell?"

"Right, as you always are," says Osprey, Iwe will rebuild our nest. The lattice on the buoy's top is still strong and we will pack the sticks well down inside of it. Come let us to work," and away they flew to the shore, one gathering sea weed and marsh grass for a lining, the other breaking large sticks from a halfdead oak and a weather-beaten pine tree.