climbed up. He went up with alacrity. From the first of their
acquaintance the girl had interested him--and yet it was more than mere
interest or feminine attraction. Her culture, her keen analysis of
events and men, her knowledge of conditions informed and instructed him.
Her subtle humor and droll insight into the characters of those who
attempted to pose in the public eye entertained him, for he lacked
humor. But, most of all, her satire gave him a truer perspective. Fresh
from the north country, where his knowledge of public men had been
limited to the information which newspapers had given him, he had
classed them wrongly. His own gravity had given them too eminent
qualities. The girl, knowing them, had pricked their assumptions with
good-humored satire, and he looked at them again and found them as she
said. As he sat beside her and the horse walked on, he was conscious
that in avoiding her he had been depriving himself both of entertainment
and valuable instruction. It was a rather selfish reflection, but he
could not help it.

"Now, Mr. Harlan Thornton, from what my father says about the house,
when he's so angry that he really doesn't know what it is he's saying, I
understand you're playing hob with all the traditions of politics. In
order to be honest, do you find it necessary to oppose all the things my
father wants to do? If you dare to say so you'll be called on to have
some very serious conversation with my father's daughter!"

"I don't want any differences with your father--or with you, Miss
Presson," he declared, earnestly. "I honestly don't! It all seems to be
a mighty mixed-up mess. I sometimes wish I'd stayed back home in the
woods. I'm too little a fellow to be in such a big game. I'm afraid I'm
so small I can only see one side of it."

"You admit there are two sides?"

"My grandfather and your father have impressed that on me pretty
strongly."

"Isn't there any good in the other side? Do you mean to tell me that all
the men in politics in this State are wrong except you and old General
Waymouth?"

"No, but it's the way of doing things. I guess it's that."

She drew her horse to a stop. The country road was quiet. The hush of
the starry August night was over all.

"Mr. Thornton," she said, looking him squarely in the eyes, "with all
due respect to the mighty masculine, I believe you are in need of a few
suggestions from a woman's standpoint. You haven't acquired the art of
flattery. If so,