ipe. The Squire not given to morbid
or other psychological studies made brief reply. "I hope that Leila will
remain half boy."

"Too late, Squire--too late. You've got a woman on your hands. There will
be two heads to Grey Pine."

"And may I ask where do I come in?" He was at times almost dull-witted,
and yet in danger swift to think and quick to act.

Rivers filling the well-cleaned pipe looked up. There was something of
unwonted gaiety in the moving face-lines which frame the eyes and give to
them the appearance of change of expression. "My dear friend, you were as
dough that is kneaded in the hands of Leila, the girl; you will be no
less so now in the hands of this splendid young woman."

"Oh, now--by George! Rivers, you must think me--"

"Think you! Oh, like other men. And as concerns Mrs. Ann, there
will sometimes be a firm alliance with Leila before which you will
wilt--or--no, I will not venture further."

"You had better not, or you may fail like other prophets."

"No, I was thinking as you spoke of the fact that Leila has seen a good
deal of a very interesting society in Baltimore, and has had the chance,
and I am sure the desire, to hear more of the wild Southern party-talk
than most girls have."

"Yes, she has been in both camps."

"And always was and is, I fancy, eagerly curious in the best sense. More
than my dear Mrs. Ann, she has wide intellectual sympathies--and
appetites."

"That's a very fine phrase, Mark."

"Isn't it, Squire? I was also comparing in my mind John's want of
association with men of his own social accident of position. He lived
here with some rough country lads and with you and me. He has had no such
chance as Leila's."

"Oh, the Point will mature him. Then two years on the Plains--and after
that the mills."

"Perhaps--two years! But, Penhallow, who can dare to predict what God has
in store for us. Two years!"

"Yes--too true--who can! Just now we are financially diseased, and men
are thinking more of the bread and butter and debts of to-morrow than of
Mr. Buchanan in the toils of his Southern Cabinet."

"That's so. Good-night."

Leila took upstairs with her John's last letter to her aunt, and sitting
down read it eagerly:

"WEST POINT.

"MY DEAR AUNT: The life here, as I wrote you, is something almost
monastic in its systematic regularity, and its despotic claims on one's
time. It leaves small leisure for letters except on Sundays; and if a
fellow means to be wel