How kind to have said this to Bart! Oh, what a mistake, that just
praise is injurious! How many weary, fainting, doubting young hearts
have famished and died for a kind word of encouragement!

When Bart returned to the sitting-room, his mother and younger
brothers had retired.

"I am scorned of women and misunderstood of men--even by my own
brother," he said bitterly to himself. "Let me live to change this,
and then let me die."

The old melancholy chords vibrated, and he went to his little attic,
remembering with anguish the stream of nonsense and folly he had
poured forth, and thought of the laughter he had provoked as so much
deserved rebuke; and he determined never to utter another word that
should provoke a smile. He would feed and sleep, and grow stupid and
stolid, heavy and dull, and bring forth emptiness and nothings with
solemn effort and dignified sweatings.

Early on the morrow he was away to the camp, to renew the fires under
his sugar-kettles. The cool, fresh air of the woods refreshed and
restored his spirits somewhat. He placed on the breakfast-table two
bouquets of wood-flowers, and met his guests with the easy grace and
courtesy of an accomplished host; and both felt for the first time
the charm of his manner, and recognized that it sprung from a superior
nature.

As they were about to rise from the breakfast-table, "Gentlemen," said
he, "Miss Kate Fisher gives, this afternoon, a little sugar party, out
at her father's camp. Henry, she sent over an invitation specially for
you two, with one to me, for courtesy. I cannot go; but you must.
You will meet, Mr. Ranney, several young ladies, any one of whom will
convert you to my creed of love and poetry, and two or three young,
men stupid enough to master the law,"--with a bright smile. "I
promised you would both go. The walk is not more than a mile, the day
a marvel right out of Paradise, and you both need the exercise, and to
feel that it is spring."

"And why don't you go, Barton?" asked Henry.

"Well, you are not a stranger to any whom you will meet, and don't
need me. In the first place, I must remain and gather the sap, and
can't go; in the second, I don't want to go, and won't; and in the
third, I have several good reasons for not going,"--all very bright,
and in good humor.

"What do you say, Ranney?"

"Well, I would like to go, and I would like to have Barton go with
us."

"Would you, though?"--brightening. "No, I can't go; though I