The girl had brown eyes, too. The boy and girl must be brother and sister. When they smiled they looked very much alike. The girl's features were delicate and lovely. There was a haunting familiarity in them. Could it be that she reminded him of his mother? It seemed to him that she looked as he imagined his mother might have looked at nineteen or twenty. Was she someone he should remember? No, surely not, for he never could have forgotten a face like that! He reviewed rapidly the local girls he used to know, girls who were in his social set before he went to college, but she was none of them. No, she must be some newcomer since he left.

And now the skirmishing on the field had stopped and the real game had begun. He could see the good-looking young giant who had just given his watch to the girl on the stand, stride out and take his place. Ah! He was pitcher! Morrell settled into a comfortable position, his hands clasped around one knee, and gave himself up to the beauty of the day, in retrospect imagining himself a boy again with a real interest in that game down there.

Then his gaze wandered back again to the girl as she sat watching. He noticed the sweetness of her face and studied it idly, letting it recall his mother's sweet expression. It interested him to watch her.

She did not seem to have come with anybody, she was sitting apart from the young people who were clamoring noisily to one another about the game. She had just dropped down at the end there among the younger children. They smiled at her now and then, and one little girl reached across two others, gave her a bunch of wilted violets to hold and received a radiant smile. Could that be her little sister? And why was he so much interested? Just because he was lonely, and afraid of thinking back into the past? Then there came a boy of twelve, all out of breath, bearing a bag from the grocery that looked as if it might contain a loaf of bread, and dumped it in the girl's lap. That must be another brother. He was asking for something. A clean handkerchief was handed out surreptitiously, and he hurried around to the front to curl down on the grass with his knees drawn up to his chin. Yes, that must be her brother. But there was a different kind of understanding between this sister and her family from that of most girls with their younger brothers and sisters. At least, the girls he knew. There was no impatience in this girl's face, no protest at being made a dumping-ground for their various belongings. There seemed to be a comradery between them, as if they were all a part of a pleasant whole.

He studied the girl intently. More and more he admired the expression of her face. There was nothing sharp or self-centered or restless about it. It almost seemed as if the word peace would describe the look in her eyes as she turned to smile at the little girl.

She was wearing a simple white dress, cool and becoming, and a little white felt hat that showed her soft brown hair. To his eyes, her outfit seemed to fit perfectly the day and the moment. It almost seemed as he studied her that she wore her garments with distinction. And yet there was a sweet quietness of refinement that set her apart from the crowd of smart young people who obviously felt themselves to be socially the elite of the town. Her garments lacked the bold sophistication that marked so many of her day.