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While George and Billie Dore wandered to the rose garden to

interview the man in corduroys, Maud had been seated not a hundred

yards away--in a very special haunt of her own, a cracked stucco

teency on the shores of a little

lily-covered pond She was reading poetry to Albert the page

Albert the page was a recent addition to Maud's inner circle She

had interested herself in him some two months back in eon cell tames and pets the

conventional roove in life and develop his soul, appealed to her ro in the tily moot point--and one which his associates of

the servants' hall would have combated hotly--whether Albert

possessed a soul The most one could say for certain is that he

looked as if he possessed one To one who saw his deep blue eyes

and their sweet, pensive expression as they searched the el Hoas the watcher to know

that the thought behind that far-off gaze was simply a speculation

as to whether the bird on the cedar tree was or was not within

range of his catapult? Certainly Maud had no such suspicion She

worked hopefully day by day to rouse Albert to an appreciation of

the nobler things of life

Not but what it was tough going Even she admitted that Albert's

soul did not soar readily It refused to leap fro could scarcely have been

called encouraging Maud finished it in a hushed voice, and looked