"All the bromides—Grand antiseptic qualities—Your essay in the last review."

Out on the stairs, Hope was in the midst of a gay crowd; and, quite at the other side of the building, Hubert sat on the pedestal of the Dying Gaul, with one arm thrown across the neck of the statue, while he talked to the pretty young girl perched at his side.

Punctual to the moment, Billy appeared.

"Now let's get out of this," he said abruptly.

"Aren't you having a good time?" she questioned, with a little hurt tone.

"Yes, fine. I struck some Cleveland girls; they're always pretty. But now I want a breath of fresh air and a little sensible conversation. Come along."

"Where?"

"Anywhere, as long as it's quiet."

She laughed, as she handed him her fan.

"I believe you're tired before I am, Billy."

"No; only I do want a little chance to see you. It's not as if I were going to be at home, this summer."

She glanced at him sharply. Then she bit her lip a little, as she followed him through the crowd at the door, and out upon the campus.

"This is pretty, for a fact, Ted," he said, breaking the silence. "Yale can't show anything to beat this."

"That's very generous of you, Billy," she answered; but her tone lacked its usual vivacity, and her step dragged slightly, as they moved away together among the Chinese lanterns which edged the walks in double line.

The crowd was here, too; but Billy steered her through it, past the houses and the old gymnasium, and out to the far end of the campus. At the steps of the observatory, he halted.

"It's quiet here, and we can get some good of the moon," he said. "Let's sit down here, unless you are afraid of taking cold."

"The idea! I'm not an alum.; besides, it's a warm night."

"How will you stand two commencements, Ted?" he asked, settling himself at her feet and turning to look up at her.

"Better than my gowns will," she said, showing him a long rent in her skirt.

He laughed.

"You always were hard on your clothes, Teddy. I shall never forget the sound of rending garments which heralded your first approach."

"Out of the apple-tree? I remember. I also remember the lecture Hope gave me."

"Those were good old days," he said contentedly, as he opened and shut her fan.

"These are better," she answered, looking down at him, as he sat there in the moonlight. "I can't make it seem as if you ever lived in a chair."

He looked up, shaking back his hair with a quick motion of his head.

"It's over now, thank Heaven! Still, it brought us together, after all. Teddy, I'm going to miss you. I wish I needn't go."

"But you must," she said hastily, startled at something in his tone. "It isn't everybody who has the double chance to study for his profession and to be treated by Dr. Brunald, at the same time."

"If it only finishes the cure! But two years is such a long time."

"Yes. But I'm going down with your mother to see you off, you know; and then you'll write often."

"Of course. But so much can happen in two years."

"I hope there can. Do you remember my three wishes?"

"No. Yes. Seems to me I do. What were they?"

"It was one day, under the trees in your grounds. I was in a confidential mood, I remember, and I was moved to tell them to you. They included a bicycle, a college course, and a successful career of authorship."

"I remember. You've two of them, Ted; and I believe you'll get the other."

"Wait till you come home. You may find me no nearer the end than I am now."

"I doubt it, Teddy. You've the stuff in you. Write and tell me, when you make your first hit."

"I will. I'm counting on your letters, Billy, for it's going to be very lonely without you." Her lip quivered again, and in the moonlight he saw an odd glitter in her eyes.

He took her hand in his.

"Ted," he said gently; "two years can't make any difference in such a friendship as ours. We've stuck together through thick and thin, and nothing can change us. Two years isn't a very long time to wait, and then, please God, I shall come home to you all, a strong man. After that, I shall never go away again—to leave you, dear."

The last words were almost inaudible. Then the silence and the moonlight closed in about them.

The chapel was filled to overflowing, the next day, as the procession filed up the middle aisle. Led by the white-gowned ushers, they came slowly onward, faculty and trustees, alumnae and seniors, while above and around them, soft and full by turns, rose the sound of the organ under the masterly touch they knew so well. It was an hour when even the most heedless freshman felt the pain, the almost solemn sadness of the coming parting, yet the full meaning of the commencement day can be realized only by those who are leaving their Alma Mater for the last time.

All too soon, the morning sped away and the president rose to confer the degrees, while a hush, slight, but expectant, crept over the place.

"Quae primum gradum accedunt."

At the well-known words, the seniors rose, with Theodora standing at their head. The girl was very pale, and her eyes looked dark and liquid, as she raised them to the president's face. From his seat in the south transept, Billy watched her while she stood there, tall and straight and noble in her young womanhood, a very daughter of to-day; and, as he looked, within him there strengthened the belief which had been slowly forming and guiding his life ever since the day, more than six years before, when Theodora had come down to him from the old apple-tree. In all those tedious, aching years, Theodora had been his best friend; and now with health and with her before him, he could afford to work, and wait, and hope.



CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Two years had passed away, and The Savins lay basking in the heat of an August noon. Here and there, a broad calladium leaf swayed majestically to and fro in a passing breeze, and the locusts sang shrilly in the trees overhead. Upstairs in her own room, Theodora rocked lazily, humming to herself while she darned her stockings.

"Prosaic work!" she said aloud, half whimsically. "The sure forerunner of a prosaic spinsterhood! My plans don't seem to materialize rapidly, and I foresee that I shall go on darning stockings till the end of my days. Bah! how I hate it!" She rolled up her stockings into a ball. "Two years ago, and I was saying good-by to Billy in New York, and we were making great plans for what we were to accomplish. Dear old Billy! I hope he's quite strong by this time. It's almost time for another letter from him, seems to me."

She tossed the ball to the table beside her, and, clasping her hands above her rumpled hair, fell to dreaming. Phebe interrupted her.

"A letter for you, Teddy!" she proclaimed, opening the door and casting the envelope across the room towards her sister.

"From Billy?"

"How should I know? I don't read your letters."

It was the same Phebe, older and taller, but otherwise unchanged. Now her tone was slightly toploftical.

"I didn't suppose you did," Theodora answered, while she rose to pick up the letter. "I can't say you are over-ceremonious with it, Babe."

"Don't care." And Phebe vanished as abruptly as she had come.

The letter was not from Billy. The handwriting was strange; and Theodora turned it over and over nervously, before she ventured to open it. Then of a sudden the color came into her cheeks, and her eyes flashed. Seizing the letter, she opened the door and ran down the stairs.

"Hope! Hu! Somebody!" she called, with a glad, exultant note in her voice.

She called again. Then she heard Phebe's voice from the lawn.

"I am here. What do you want?"

"Where is everybody?" Theodora asked, stepping out on the piazza.

"I'm here." Phebe's accent suggested that her feelings were hurt at the question.

"Yes; but papa and mamma?"

"Driving."

"And Hope?"

"Mooning round with Archie somewhere."

"Where's Hu?"

"Gone for a ride."

"Then you'll be the first to hear my great news."

"Needn't tell me, unless you want. I don't care to be taken Jack-at-a-pinch."

"I do want to tell you, Babe. I only thought I would wait till the others were here; but I don't believe I can wait."

"What is it?" Phebe asked, her curiosity overcoming her momentary pique as she looked at Theodora's radiant face.

"It's only that I've written a book and sent it to a publisher, and he says it's good enough to publish."

"Really? Really and truly?" Phebe's face expressed her incredulity. "Will he pay you a lot for it?"

"Something,—not a lot, though," Theodora answered, too much accustomed to Phebe's lack of sympathy to be hurt by her words. "But that's not the main thing, Babe. Think of the honor of it!"

"Hm!" Phebe said slowly. "It's the money I'd care for, Teddy. Ever so many people have written books before, and some of them younger than you."

Great was the rejoicing of the family, that day, when Theodora met them at the dinner-table with her news. In the clamor of question and congratulation, no word could be distinguished at first. Then Dr. McAlister's voice, clear and quiet, hushed the others.

"Teddy, dear," he said tenderly; "I couldn't love you more than I do; but this makes your old father very proud of you. I wish your own mother could have known it."

And Mrs. McAlister added softly,—

"Perhaps she does, Jack."

The clamor broke out again.

"When did you—?"

"How did you ever—?"

"Why didn't you tell us that—?"

"How long—?"

"What will Billy Farrington say?" Hope asked at length.

"He'll say, 'Didn't I always tell you so?'" Hubert answered, smiling across the table at his twin sister.

Afterwards they lingered on the piazza, talking and laughing, begging to see the manuscript, teasing Theodora about her secretiveness, and congratulating her again and again. It was an attractive group, Theodora in the midst, a tall, handsome girl in the full ripeness of her maidenly beauty, her arm linked in that of her twin brother, while pretty Hope stood facing them, with Archie at her side.

Allyn came up to them as they stood there.

"Take these, Teddy," he said, holding out his hand.

"What are they, Allyn?" she asked, loosing Hubert's arm as she bent down over the child.

"Clovers, four-leafed ones. They will bring you luck," he answered, with childish superstition.

"How many you find, Allyn! I never see any," she said, taking the handful of green leaves.

"Put them in your belt, and the first man you shake hands with, you'll marry," Phebe suggested pertly.

"Not I. I'm doomed to old-maidhood," she said, laughing.

"Give them to Hope, then," Phebe said, careless of Hope's blushes.

"Never. They are mine. You gave them to me, didn't you, Allyn?"

"Yes," the child said gravely. "You'd better keep them and put them in your belt. Hope doesn't need them as much as you do."

In the midst of the laugh that followed, Theodora went away to her room to write the momentous letter which should accept the publisher's offer. It cost her some pains to write it, to attain the proper degree of indifference, equally removed from coldness and from childish eagerness. The clock beside her told that an hour had passed over her task, and a little heap of torn papers lay on the desk before her when the maid came to call her.

"There's some one in the parlor to see you, Miss Theodora."

"Who?"

"He didn't tell me his name."

"Bother take him!" Theodora remarked to herself. Then she added aloud, "Well, I'll be right down."

It was characteristic of Theodora that she delayed to give no glance at the mirror. Just as she was, with her ruffled hair and in her simple pink morning gown, she ran down the stairway and entered the cool, dark parlor. As she crossed the threshold, the guest rose to greet her,—a guest with a tall, athletic figure, a sunburned face, keen blue eyes, and a mass of reddish golden hair.

"Billy!"

"Ted!"

"Where did you come from?"

"'The Ankworks package.'"

"But really?"

"I landed, yesterday afternoon. I was bound to give you a surprise, and I think I've made it out. Glad to see me?"

"You dear old boy! Have you any doubts about it? How well you're looking, and how—how stunning!"

"Ditto, ma'am. The years have agreed with you, I suspect."

"Yes. And you? You've told so little about yourself. You do write horrid letters, Billy."

"Your old frankness, I observe," he said mischievously.

"I know it; but when I am longing to hear if you're well and all about you, you write reams of student gossip. I forgive you, though, now I see you, for you look better than I ever supposed you could."

"Not much like the flabby chunk of flesh that used to call itself Billy Farrington?" he asked complacently.

"Not a bit, you giant; but you're the same old Billy. Is it polite to say you've grown? Walk off, and let me look at you."

Turning, he made a few quick strides up and down the room, laughing, as he did so, at the perfect satisfaction written on her face. Then he came back and took her hand once more.

"Will it pass, Teddy?" he asked, looking down at the tall girl beside him.

"Yes, in every way. You're sure you are as strong as ever?"

"Sound as a nut. And, by Jove, Ted, after two years of Dutch Gretchens, it is good to see you again."



Something in the expression of the blue eyes above her made her own eyes droop. Then suddenly she flushed and drew away her hand, which, all this time, had been lying in his two strong brown palms, for, as she looked down, her glance had chanced to fall upon the bunch of withered leaves which still clung in her belt.

THE END



WANOLASSET

THE-LITTLE-ONE-WHO-LAUGHS

By MISS A. G. PLYMPTON

Author of "Dear Daughter Dorothy," etc.



12mo. Cloth. With illustrations by the author. $1.25.

A story of colonial life in New England during King Philip's War, and of the captivity of a little Medfield maid, to whom, on account of her brave spirit and sunny temper, the Indians gave the name of "Wanolasset"—meaning "The-little-one-who-laughs." Much historical information is cleverly interwoven with the story, which is one of absorbing interest. The author has invested her youthful characters with much of that same sweetness which characterizes "Dear Daughter Dorothy," the heroine of one of her earlier books; and their varying fortunes will be eagerly followed.—New England Magazine.

It is a story of boy and girl life in a Puritan colony, an historical romance, indeed, for young people. Miss Plympton's stories are always prime favorites, and she has never written quite so good a one as this.—Providence News.

The tale is of King Philip's War, and little Alse's capture and rescue are given with an eye to historical accuracy and with a clearer sense of justice to the captors than characterized the "Indian stories" of twenty years ago. Out of all this careful study of facts, combined with literary skill, the child of to-day ought to get a fair idea of pioneer life.—Los Angeles Express.

The story is such a one as children delight in, and is withal so simple, sweet, and wholesome that no better gift could be chosen for any child.—Lexington (Ky.) Herald.



THE CHICOPEE SERIES

BY MYRA SAWYER HAMLIN



NAN AT CAMP CHICOPEE; OR, NAN'S SUMMER WITH THE BOYS.

The story is one of free, outdoor life, characterized by a deal of fine descriptive writing and many bits of local color that invest the whole book with an atmosphere which is actually fragrant; the entire story is as fresh and as clear and as bright as if some of the breezes of "Lake Chicopee" had blown straight through it from cover to cover and left their odors of flowery pastures and pine woods and New Hampshire air on every page.—Bangor Commercial.

NAN IN THE CITY; OR, NAN'S WINTER WITH THE GIRLS.

A bright story in which children and animals play an equal part.—The Outlook.

It is a charmingly entertaining book from cover to cover, and in every way entitled to a wide constituency of young readers. The story is well told and the atmosphere is healthful and uplifting, while there is a plot to keep the interest aroused, and around the central figure of the story the reader's affection and good-will is bound to cling, for the heroine is a type of young girl such as makes the world brighter and happier for her presence.—Boston Budget.

NAN'S CHICOPEE CHILDREN. (Completing The Chicopee Series.)

16mo. Cloth. Illustrated. Each, $1.25.



'TWIXT YOU AND ME

A STORY FOR GIRLS

BY GRACE LE BARON

Author of "Little Miss Faith," "Little Daughter," "The Rosebud Club," and "Queer Janet"



12mo. Cloth. With pictures by Ellen Bernard Thompson and floral decorations by Katherine Pyle. $1.50

This new book by an author whose other stories have been written for younger children will win a warm place in the hearts of girl readers, and its two principal characters, Rosemary and Daisy, are likely to be very popular. The events of the story occur in two summers at the seashore and in two terms at the "Misses Bagley's Fashionable Boarding-School." The author has interwoven with the story a very charming garland of poems of flowers.



BELLE

A New Book by the author of "Miss Toosey's Mission"



16mo. Cloth. Illustrated. $1.00



THE LITTLE RED SCHOOLHOUSE

BY EVELYN RAYMOND

Author of "The Little Lady of the Horse," "Among the Lindens," etc.



12mo. Cloth. Illustrated by Victor A. Searles. $1.50

As the title indicates, the country school is the feature of the book which has suggested much of its plot, and the author has woven a delightful narrative, sensible and practical, and at the same time interesting and uplifting, which will be welcomed by the young people.—Congregationalist.



AMONG THE LINDENS

BY EVELYN RAYMOND

Author of "The Little Lady of the Horse," "A Cape May Diamond," "The Mushroom Cave," "The Little Red Schoolhouse," etc.



12mo. Cloth. Illustrated by Victor A. Searles. $1.50

The scene of Evelyn Raymond's new story is partly in New York and partly in the country "among the lindens." A poor family is assisted by a wealthy friend in the best possible way,—he helps them to help themselves. The youngest boy is the life of the story, something of an amusing and exceedingly lively nature happening to him every day of his life. The children of the story have faults, but strive to correct them, and have healthy and noble ideals of life and character. There is an exceptionally pleasant, homelike atmosphere about the book.



THE YOUNG PURITANS IN KING PHILIP'S WAR

A sequel to "The Young Puritans of Old Hadley"

BY MARY P. WELLS SMITH

Author of "The Jolly Good Times Series," etc.



12mo. Cloth. Illustrated by L. J. Bridgman. $1.25

This is the second volume in "The Young Puritans Series." The author has made a very careful study of the Colonial life and history of the time. Like the first volume of the series, her attempt to depict the life of Puritan children for young people is closely based on historical facts. These volumes should be read carefully and studied by the children of to-day, recounting, as they do, the hardships endured by their forefathers and foremothers in the settlement of this country, as well as their devotion, high aims, and religious zeal. The third volume of the series will be devoted to "The Young Puritans in Captivity."



HESTER STANLEY'S FRIENDS

A sequel to "Hester Stanley at St. Mark's"

BY HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD



12mo. Cloth. Illustrated by Frank T. Merrill. $1.25

Mrs. Spofford's new book includes the following stories, dealing with the same characters as those of her delightful volume of schoolgirl life entitled "Hester Stanley at St. Mark's": Bella's Choice; A Christmas that was Christmas; Jule's Garden; April Showers; Rafe; The Little Black Fiddle; Billy and his Grandmother; Remade; The Fourth at Marcia Meyer's; Little Rosalie; At Old Benbow.

A NEW EDITION OF "HESTER STANLEY AT ST. MARK'S"

Uniform with the above. Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth. $1.25 The two volumes, in a box, $2.50

THE END