where I need your trust most."

Elinor bent over her uncle and softly stroked the heavy black hair from
his forehead.

"Here's where I help you most, then," she said, gently.

"I have some funds, Elinor, to be yours at your graduation--not before.
Believe me, dear girl, I begged of Joshua to let me turn them over to
you now, but he staid obstinate to the last."

"And I don't want a thing different till I get my diploma. Not even till
I get my Master's Degree for that matter," Elinor said, playfully.

"And meantime, Norrie, will you just be a college girl and drop all
thought of this marrying business until you are through school?"
Fenneben was hesitating a little now. "A year hence will be time enough
for that."

"Most gladly," Elinor assured him.

"Then that's all for my brother's sake. Now for mine, Norrie, or for
yours, rather, if my little girl has her mind all set about things after
school days, I hope she will not be a flirt. Sometimes the words and
acts cut deeper into other lives than we ever dream. Norrie, I know this
out of the years of my own lonely life."

Elinor's eyes were dewy with tears and she bent her head until her hair
touched his cheek.

"I'll try to be good 'fornever,' as Bug Buler says," she murmured.

Over in the Saxon House on this same evening Vincent Burgess had come in
to see Dennie about some books.

"I took your advice, Dennie," he said. "I have been a man to the extent
of making myself square with Victor Burleigh, and I've felt like a free
man ever since."

The look of joy and pride in Dennie's eyes thrilled him with a keen
pleasure. Her eyes were of such a soft gray and her pretty wavy hair was
so lustrous tonight.

"Dennie, I am going to be even more of a man than you asked me to be."

Dennie did not look up. The pink of her cheek, her long lashes over
her downcast eyes, the sunny curls above her forehead, all were fair to
Vincent Burgess. As he looked at her he began to understand, blind bat
that he had been all this time, he, Professor Vincent Burgess, A.B.,
Instructor in Greek from Harvard University.

"I must be going now. Good-night, Dennie."

He shook hands and hurried away, but to the girl who was earning her
college education there was something in his handclasp, denied before.

The next day there was a settling of affairs at Sunrise, and the
character-building put into Lloyd Fenneben's hand, as clay for the
potter's wheel, seemed to him to be shaping some