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£mi 
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XII 
APRIL slowly drifted over the 
mountain skies into May, 
and May, touched with the first 
delicate bloom of the tender North- 
ern summer, ripened into June, and 
life crept to the door of the old ±2^ 
house where John Foster had al- 
ways met it with a smile, and 
climbed to the windows, and bud- 
ded and bloomed in the old garden, 
where a few familiar and friendly 
flowers had always lived on inti- 
mate terms with the silent man ; 
but there was no response to the 
beauty which enfolded the deserted 
[99] 
"l^sH 
■rv\^ 
L.ofC. 
