Denise sat all alone in her phaeton, her elbows resting upon her knees, and her chin propped upon her hands. The soft brown curls fell all about her face, and the brown eyes, which matched the curls in color, looked dreamily off toward the glassy river. The linen carriage-robe had slipped from her knees and one end trailed out upon the fresh green grass upon which the phaeton stood, for she had driven out of the main road into a little by-way leading up the mountain, her favorite spot for a “good quiet think,” and she and Ned Toodles were reveling in the beauty of that early spring day. The atmosphere was so balmy, so filled with the thousand promises of spring, the sun so warm and comfortin…
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