It seemed the only way, as matters lay between them and their
families.

Dennis Kavanagh was seated on his veranda, smoking his short pipe and
inhaling the freshness of the shower-cooled summer air along with the
aroma of his tobacco.

"I would like to see your daughter, Mr. Kavanagh," announced the young
man, boldly. "And I have not come sneaking by the back way. It will be a
good while before I can see her again."

"That it will," responded Mr. Kavanagh, dryly, "and it will be a good
long while before ye'll see her now--that may be mixed, but I reckon
ye'll get the drift of it!"

"It will be better for all our interests if I have a few words with
her," persisted the young man, trying to keep his temper.

"Will ye talk to her through the air or over the telephone?" inquired
the father, sarcastically. "She is not here, she is not near here, and
if ye wait for her to come back ye'll best arrange to have your meals
brought."

He did not pause for Harlan to ask any more questions. He came down from
the porch on his stubby legs and handed up an envelope. The flap of the
envelope had been opened.

"She left this," he said; "and having opened it and seen that it held
nothing but what ye might profitably know, Thornton's grandson, I here
give it into your hand, and ye needn't thank me."

Harlan, wondering, apprehensive, fearing something untoward, took out
the single sheet of paper. He read:

"BIG BOY,--Go on and let the world make you a great man. I'm groping.
Perhaps I'll see my way some day and can follow. But just as there's a
cure for ignorance, so there's a cure for hearts, maybe. Your friend,
CLARE."

Harlan looked over the edge of the paper into the twinkling little eyes
of the father. Mr. Kavanagh seemed to be getting much satisfaction from
the expression on his victim's face.

"Can't you tell me what this means, Mr. Kavanagh? I beg of you humbly,
and in all sincerity."

"The Kavanaghs are never backward in politeness, Mr. Harlan Thornton. It
means that my girl is done playing child and riding cock-horse. She's off
to learn to be the finest and knowingest lady in all the land--she's off
because she wanted to go, and she's got all of Dennis Kavanagh's fat
wallet behind her!" He slapped his breast-pocket.

"Off where?"

"Where they know things and teach things better than they do over in
your Yankeeland of airs and frills. And now good-day to ye!"

He climbed the porch steps, and relighted his pipe,