And just a dear. There is an awful lot
to you that Sara can never touch. You show it only to me. And it's
mine."

"You'd better stay on the job, Still," said Pen, warningly.

Again Jim laughed. "Why, you sent me out west yourself."

Pen nodded. "And it will make a man of you. It will wake you up. And
when you wake up, you'll be a big man, Jimmy."

Pen's old look was on her face. "What do you mean, Pen?" asked Jim.

The girl shook her head. "I don't quite know. Some day, when I've
learned some of the lessons Aunt Mary says are coming to me, I'll tell
you." Then a look almost of fright came to Pen's face. "I'm afraid to
learn the lessons, Still Jim. Take me with you now, Jimmy."

The tall boy looked at her longingly, then he said:

"Dear, I mustn't. It wouldn't be treating you right." And there was a
sudden depth of passion in his young voice as he added, "I'm going to
give you my sign and seal again, beloved."

And Jim lifted Penelope in his strong arms and laid his lips to hers in
a hot young kiss that seemed to leave its impress on her very heart. As
he set her to her feet, Penelope gave a little sob and ran from the
room.

Nothing that life brings us is so sure of itself as first love; nothing
ever again seems so surely to belong to life's eternal verities. Jim
went about his preparations for graduating and for leaving home with
complete sense of security. He had arranged his future. There was
nothing more to be said on the matter. Fate had no terror for Jim. He
had the bravery of untried youth.

The next two weeks were busy and hurried. Pen, a little wistful eyed
whenever she looked at Jim, avoided being alone with him. Saradokis did
not come to the house again. He took two weeks in the mountains after
graduation before beginning the contracting business which his father
had built up for him.

As the time drew near for leaving home, Jim planned to say a number of
things to his Uncle Denny. He wanted to tell him about his feeling for
Pen and he wanted to tell how much he was going to miss the fine old
Irishman's companionship. He wanted to tell him that he was not merely
Jim Manning, going to work, but that he was a New Englander going forth
to retrieve old Exham. But the words would not come out and Jim went
away without realizing that Uncle Denny knew every word he would have
said and vastly more, that only the tender Irish heart can know.

Jim's mother, Uncle Denny and Pen went to the station with hi