med to live in a
world full of interests into which she could not enter. Jean was
burning with ambition. She talked only of her studies, of her progress
and aspirations in the teaching profession, and of Miss Mills, with
whom she studied. Miss Mills was a mathematical wonder, Jean declared,
but in Elizabeth's opinion, she was a tough mathematical problem
clothed in partially human flesh. She wondered much at Miss Mills, and
at Jean too, and tried to catch her enthusiasm. But she could see
nothing in Jean's life over which to grow enthusiastic.

Another person who seemed to have grown away from her was Charles
Stuart. The Pretender had changed within the last few years. He was a
tall, broad-shouldered young man now, and his dark eyes did not dance
so mischievously in his handsome face. They wore something of the
expression of dreamy kindness that lay in the depths of his mother's
gray eyes. He was generally very quiet too, given to sitting alone
with a book, and Elizabeth often found him dull and stupid.

Mother MacAllister sometimes seemed worried over him, and Elizabeth
wondered much what could be the reason. Had the Pretender been wild
and bad as he used to be she could have understood, but he seemed so
quiet and steady.

One evening she came near divining the reason for her anxious looks.

Elizabeth still kept up her Saturday afternoon visit to Mother
MacAllister, and to-night they had had the blue dishes for tea. As she
wiped them and arranged them on the high shelf of the cupboard, Mother
MacAllister went down cellar to attend to her milk. Elizabeth finished
her work and picked up a book Charles Stuart had left on the window.
It was a theological work, and as Mother MacAllister came out of the
cool cellar, the girl looked up joyfully.

"Then Stuart is going to be a minister after all, is he?"

The mother's beautiful eyes grew eager, hungry. "Would he be saying
that to you, lovey?" she asked in a half-whisper.

"No. But this book; it's a theological work. I thought from it----"
Elizabeth's heart was touched by the expression on Mother MacAllister's
face. It had grown very sad. She glanced at the book and shook her
head. "No, no, dearie," she said, and there was a quiver in her voice
that made the girl's heart contract. "I am afraid it is books like
that one that will be keeping young men away from the truth."

Elizabeth patted her arm in silent sympathy. She knew Mother
MacAllister's gre