With only seven days until the wedding plans were taking definite shape around Ingleside, but Sally was in high spirits the next morning, as she pulled on her canvas Keds, sitting at the table in the kitchen. She could not help singing a little of a song she had heard at the pictures last year, a love song written by Messrs Gershwin. And after last night's plans, she was full of renewed hope, and her heart felt full and steeped in love as her faulty soprano shaped the words.

Someday, there must come somebody
Bringing heaven in view
And so her courage, she must keep
As she sings herself to sleep…

Aunt Di, who was clearing away the breakfast things, surprised her by taking up the second verse in a clear, bright, silvery voice.

Somebody from somewhere
Will appear someday
I don't know just from where
But he's on his way…

The two female creatures seemed to realize just then that they were not alone, and met each others' eyes suspiciously. "Why are you so happy?" Sally wondered of her pretty, flame-haired aunt, who looked as though she had been painted over with contentment. She had never seen Aunt Di look so rosy, so shiny.

"No reason," said Di quickly, arranging her features in a hasty frown. But she could not quite manage it. Her lips still wanted to tuck up at the ends as she asked Sally, "Why are you so happy?"

"Because God's in His heaven, and all's right with the world," said Sally, loftily, thinking of the blue envelope upstairs that was being closely guarded by the cousins until the time came for its delivery. In the Ingleside driveway, an automobile horn sounded, and Sally sprang from her chair and ran out into the blue, blue morning. Uncle Shirley was taking her flying today—for the first time in weeks!

Sally was never nervous about flying. Her first time in an aeroplane had been when she was too young to really remember it, and so she had never known a time when she was not acquainted with the way that Ingleside looked from above, the sight of the neat patchwork fields, the feeling of the wind in her hair and the misty fog on her face. All the same, as they drove toward the airfield, her palms began to sweat with apprehension. Sally was a woman with a mission, and she must not let the cousins down by bungling things, now.

Uncle Shirley glanced over at his niece and saw her little brow furrowed in concentration. "What are you thinking about, little Sally?"

Sally was grateful to him for giving her an opening. "I'm think of Aunt Una," she said, in a tone that she hoped was appropriately dolorous.

"About Una? What about her, Sal? Is she well?"

"In body, yes, I suppose…" Sally let her words linger, suggesting that in spirit, Una was from from well.

Uncle Shirley frowned, and looked at the road again. "If something's wrong with Una, you'd better tell me. If there was anything I could do for her, I'd do it, you know."

Sally pressed her lips together to hide a smile. "I think poor Aunt Una is in the depths of despair," she said, in a brokenhearted voice. It did not take much to manage it. Just the thought of darling Aunt Una really in despair made her heart squeeze with pain.

"Despair!" Uncle Shirley pulled off onto the shoulder of the road, and faced Sally. "Una, in despair? Over what?"

Sally writhed in her seat. She had painted things a little more strongly than she had meant to. "I didn't mean despair, exactly," she said, quickly. "Just—a little down in the dumps. I think she's blue—over—over Mrs. Douglas falling and hurting herself—and—and other things. I wish there was something we could do to cheer her up."

"I do, too," said Shirley, his eyes cloudy. "I don't like to think of Una upset. She's the sweetest creature imaginable—she does so much for the rest of us, we should at least make sure she's happy."

"Maybe," said Sally, helpfully. "You could take her up in the plane with you tomorrow. A nice sunrise flight would be just the thing to set her spirits—well, soaring."

Shirley laughed at her pun. "Una's none too fond of flying, you know that, Sal. But I suppose I could stop by the manse and take her on a walk—fresh air is the thing for glum spirits. I'll stop over later today, and see what's up."

"You should wear your blue shirt," Sally suggested in an offhand voice. "I heard Aunt Una say you looked so handsome in it."

Shirley started the car again, pulled back on the road, and laughed delightedly. "Did she, now? Irene's fond of that blue shirt, too. But I think Una will have to take me in my bomber jacket and dungarees. It shouldn't matter—she's as unsuperficial a woman as I've ever met."

"And such a good cook!" exclaimed Sally, who knew that Irene was not. "Maybe," she added, sweetly, "She could give Auntie Irene a few lessons."

Shirley laughed again. "I wouldn't want to be the one to suggest that to her, but maybe."

"I'm sure Aunt Una would be glad to teach her. She has her diploma in Household Science, you know."

Now Shirley looked at his niece strangely. "I do know," he said. "Una and I were at Redmond together, Sal. Yes—Una's a homey little thing. Perhaps she could give Irene a few pointers."

Sally did not like all this talk about Irene, and wanted to turn the conversation away from her. "Aunt Una is so beautiful," she sighed, looking out the window. "Why, she's the prettiest woman in the world, isn't she?"

"Yes—if you like those soft, pale looks," Shirley mused.

"I do like them," Sally said firmly. "I like those kind of looks better than the lipsticked, made-up kind. Uncle Shirley," Sally could not resist bringing up Irene one last time, at least in a roundabout way, and made her voice very sweet as she asked the next question. "Do all woman with blonde hair use peroxide, to make it look that way?"

"I don't know about all," Uncle Shirley chuckled. "Perhaps a few."

"Well, all the peroxide, and cosmetics, and fine feathers in the world can't make up for someone who isn't pretty on the inside," Sally expounded. "Aunt Una doesn't need one single little thing to make her lovely—she already is. Don't you think, Uncle Shirley, that she is darling?"

Shirley looked at the girl closely, a strange look in his eyes. But the child's face was guileless, her eyes wide and innocent.

"I think Una's the bee's knees, Sal," he said carefully. "She's my pal and always will be. Now—we're here, and Josey's waiting for us. Would you like to go up today—or would you rather sit here and list for me more of Una Meredith's dearest qualities?"

"Oh, I'd like to go up," cried Sally, throwing his arms around her uncle's neck. She hid her grin in his shoulder. Aunt Una did have many more dear qualities that Sally hadn't touched on yet—but there was always time for that on the drive home.

Una Meredith stood at the manse gate and watched Shirley go with a queer look on her face. She always enjoyed spending time with her brother-in-law—he was one of the only people she knew whom she could sit with, silently, with no awkwardness. But Shirley had not been silent today. All those questions he had asked, with such a worried frown on his face! "Are you feeling quiet well, Una?—are you sure?—is there anything you'd like to get off your chest?"

Una had assured him there was nothing, but Shirley had only patted her hand. "When you want to talk, I'm here," he said, as he kissed her cheek at the gate.

"Shirley," Una wondered, a little exasperated, "What on earth has gotten into you? Am I sick, like the heroine of a novel—perishing by consumption, with everyone conspiring to keep it from me?"

He smiled, his familiar grin. "A little bird told me you were blue," Shirley told her. "Una—those kids of ours are crazy for you, and don't ever forget it."

"I know that they are," Una replied, wondering what one thing had to do with the other. Well, she had heard of men acting strangely before their weddings, and Shirley would be married in a week's time. Perhaps it was nerves making him behave so strangely, looking at her so closely, so worriedly!

"I think you should go home and get some rest, Shirley," she told him firmly. And then stood at the gate, perplexedly, to watch him go. Una sighed, and opened the mailbox to retrieve the day's mail. A book for father—a magazine for Rosemary—and a pale blue envelope, addressed to Una herself. Una leaned against the fence and looked at it. There was no stamp—it must have been hand-delivered. She opened the letter, unfolded the page, and began to read.

My dear Una,

This morning, when I was soaring about in the clouds, I could bearly keep my mind on the controls. The only thing I could think was that the turkoise sky was the same color as your eyes, your beautiful blue eyes, my darling.

Fairest one, my heart will not let me keep silent any longer. I must speak! I have loved you for such a long time that loving you is part of me, now. I know that I am betrothed to another, but my conshence will not let me keep silent any longer! I love you, Una Meredith—I have loved you for all my life!

Do not speak of it, when you see me next. I will not have my heart broken if you do not feel the same. Only find some way to show me with a little smile, or nod, or familiar gesture, that you feel the same. Find a way to show me, Una, and I will tell Irene the wedding is off. I will give my heart to you, sweet dearest darling, if you only want it.

You are the sweetest, prettiest, wonderfullest woman in the world, and I adore you.

YOUR OWN

Shirley Blythe.

Una was so troubled that she did not notice the letter was not printed in Shirley's characteristic blocky scrawl. She did, however, notice that he had misspelled 'conscience.' And 'turquoise.' And 'barely!'

She did not, for a second, believe Shirley had lost his heart to her. They had always been too good of chums for anything like that. But she was worried, a little, that he was losing his sanity. Una fingered the red rose tucked into the waistband of her dress and sighed. She folder the letter and put it carefully in her pocket, and went in to start on supper.