re been any great or lasting trouble by reason of their
difference of opinion. Ruth, gentle and yielding, was ever most timidly
fearful of being at fault; William, hard and unyielding, was always
perfectly certain of being in the right. It was therefore to be expected
that his opinions should generally rule, and that he should construe her
readiness to yield and her self-distrust, as proofs that he was not
mistaken. Rock-ribbed infallibility could hardly be expected to
comprehend the doubts that assail a sensitive soul.

William, naturally enough, had never noted that in giving way, Ruth had
not turned far or long from anything involving a principle. The truth
was that she had merely evaded his intolerance of any and all difference
of opinion--as a deep stream quietly flows round an immovable
rock--only to turn gently back into its own course as soon as might be.
And even in doing this, she had put aside only her own opinions and
feelings and rights, never those of any one else. But this present
dispute over David was wholly unlike any that had gone before. This
concerned the boy's feelings and rights, so that she suddenly found
herself forced to take a firm stand--affection, justice, and even mercy,
now forbidding her to yield. Yet it was, nevertheless, just as clear to
her in this as in everything else, that William sincerely thought he was
right. That was the trouble. That is always the trouble with people like
William Pressley, who are often harder to deal with and sometimes harder
to live with, than those who knowingly do wrong.

The three had scarcely entered the great room of Cedar House that
evening, when the judge asked the boy to go on an errand to a
neighbor's. This was to take some seed wheat which the judge had
promised to send for the fall sowing. The growing of wheat was still an
interesting and important experiment which was exciting the whole
country. There had been good corn in abundance from the first; on those
deep, rich, river-bottom lands the grains had but to reach the fertile
earth to produce an hundred bushels to the acre. But the settlers were
tired of eating corn-bread; their wives and children were pining for the
delicate white loaves made from the sweet fine wheat which they had
eaten in their old Virginia homes. So that the culture of the best wheat
had lately become a vital question, and this new seed was making a stir
of eager interest throughout the region. Philip Alston had given it to