Floyd Grandon's Honor

melody, a warble nearer, farther, fainter, a " sweet jargoniug " among flora all, that lifts his soul in uncoffscious praise. At first tiiere is a glimmer of myster)-, then he remembers, ?it is his boyhood's home. There were just sucli songs in Aunt Marcia's time, when he slept up under the eaves of the steeply peaked roof. The dawn flutters out, faint opal and gray, then rose and yellow, blue and a sort of silvery haze. It does not burst into sudden glory, but dallies in translucent seas, changing, fading, growing brighter, and lo, the world is burnished with a faint, tender gold. The air is sweet with dewy grasses, the spice of pines, rose, and honeysuckle, and the scent of clover-blooms, that hint of midsummer. There is the river, with its picturesque shores, and purple blue peaks opposite ; down below, almost hidden by the grove, the cluster of homes, in every variety of beaut)-, that are considered the par excellence of Grandon Park. Mrs. Graudon would fain destroy the grove, siuce she loves to be seen of her neighbors ; but Floyd always forbade it, and his father would not consent, so it still stands, to his delight. "If tins is the home feeling, so. eloquently discoursed upon, it has not been overrated," he says softly to himself. " Home," with a lingering inflection. " Papa ! papa ! " The fleet bare feet reach him almost as soon as the ringing voice. " I was afraid you were not here. Is this truly home? " " Truly home, my darling." He lift...