as few men could have explained:
where a clear view was to be had of anything, Ericson either had it or
knew that he had it not. Hence Robert's progress was good; for one word
from a wise helper will clear off a whole atmosphere of obstructions.

At length one day when Robert came home he found him seated at the
table, with his slate, working away at the Differential Calculus. After
this he recovered more rapidly, and ere another week was over began
to attend one class a day. He had been so far in advance before, that
though he could not expect prizes, there was no fear of his passing.

One morning, Robert, coming out from a lecture, saw Ericson in the
quadrangle talking to an elderly gentleman. When they met in the
afternoon Ericson told him that that was Mr. Lindsay, and that he had
asked them both to spend the evening at his house. Robert would go
anywhere to be with his friend.

He got out his Sunday clothes, and dressed himself with anxiety: he had
visited scarcely at all, and was shy and doubtful. He then sat down to
his books, till Ericson came to his door--dressed, and hence in Robert's
eyes ceremonial--a stately, graceful gentleman. Renewed awe came upon
him at the sight, and renewed gratitude. There was a flush on Ericson's
cheek, and a fire in his eye. Robert had never seen him look so grand.
But there was a something about him that rendered him uneasy--a look
that made Ericson seem strange, as if his life lay in some far-off
region.

'I want you to take your violin with you, Robert,' he said.

'Hoots!' returned Robert, 'hoo can I do that? To tak her wi' me the
first time I gang to a strange hoose, as gin I thocht a'body wad think
as muckle o' my auld wife as I do mysel'! That wadna be mainners--wad it
noo, Mr. Ericson?'

'But I told Mr. Lindsay that you could play well. The old gentleman is
fond of Scotch tunes, and you will please him if you take it.'

'That maks a' the differ,' answered Robert.

'Thank you,' said Ericson, as Robert went towards his instrument;
and, turning, would have walked from the house without any additional
protection.

'Whaur are ye gaein' that gait, Mr. Ericson? Tak yer plaid, or ye'll be
laid up again, as sure's ye live.'

'I'm warm enough,' returned Ericson.

'That's naething. The cauld 's jist lyin' i' the street like a verra
deevil to get a grup o' ye. Gin ye dinna pit on yer plaid, I winna tak
my fiddle.'

Ericson yielded; and they set out together.

I will ac