and the
scalding tears fell.

She was only a child, not much older than the one up-stairs, when her
dying mother had placed her baby-brother in her arms, saying:

"He is all I have to leave you, Amanda. I know you love him. Don't ever
be harsh or unforgiving to him."

How had she kept her trust? She had loved him. She had worked early
and worked late for him. She had given up everything; but she had been
ill-repaid.

"Ill," do I say? Verily, is this not true of Love: that it brings its
own blessedness?

The fire burned low, and the room settled cold and still. She seemed to
feel a pair of boyish arms about her neck and a boy's rough kiss upon
her cheek.

When she was but a young woman she had moved to the big city, and
started her dressmaker's shop, so that he could have a better chance at
school. What a loving boy he was! So full of fun!

The wind whistled outside. She thought it was he, and she heard him
again: "You're my handsome sister. Not one of the fellows have as
handsome a sister as I."

How proud she had felt when she had started him off to college. "It only
means a few years of a little harder work, and then I'll see my boy able
to take his stand with anybody."

But now she wept and groaned afresh. "Oh, how could he treat me so, how
could he! The wretched disgrace!"

He had been expelled. The president's letter was severe; but the young
man's letter regretted it as only a boyish prank. He was sorry. He had
never expected anything so serious would come of it. He deserved the
disgrace. It only hurt him through his love for her. But only forgive
him, and he would show her what he could yet do.

What had he done?

He had tied a calf to the president's door-bell.

She remembered her answer to this letter, asking for her forgiveness. It
stood before her, written in characters of flame.

Had she in this been harsh to the boy, the only legacy her dying mother
had to leave her?

"Never speak to me, nor see my face again. You have disgraced yourself
and me."

It was not so long a letter but that she could easily remember it.

Afterward, the president himself had written again to her. He thought he
had been too hasty. It was truly only a boy's prank. It was, of course,
ungentlemanly, but the trick was played on All-Fool's Night, and that
should have had greater weight than it did. The faculty were willing,
after proper apologies were made, to excuse it, and take her brother
back.

Where was he