d do you
notice its grand columns and lofty dome? If you had been a country boy
you would recollect seeing a picture of it in the spelling-book. Take a
good look at it, for that is a temple of knowledge, and it is there I
teach school!"

Frank was silent, for this time the sarcastic tone in her voice was more
pronounced. When they reached it he stopped and said quietly, "Please
hold the reins. I want to look into the room where you spend your days."

He took a good long look, and when he returned he said, "So that is what
you call a temple, is it? And it was in there the little girl wanted to
kiss you because you looked happy?" And then as they drove on he added,
"Do you know, I've thought of that pretty little touch of feeling a
dozen times since you told about it, and when I go home I shall send a
box of candy to you and ask you to do me the favor of giving it to that
little girl."

It was not what she expected he would say, and it rather pleased her.

Conversation is but an exchange of moods, and in spite of their
inspiring surroundings, the moods of those two young people did not seem
to appeal to each other. To Alice, whose constant life of self-denial
had made her feel that the world was cold and selfish, his complaints
seemed little short of sacrilege; and he felt he had made a mess of it
somehow in his really honest desire to be sincere. But two people so
placed must talk, whether they feel like it or not, and so these two
tried hard to be sociable. He wisely allowed her to do the most talking,
and was really interested in her humorous descriptions of
school-teaching. When they were nearly home he said:

"You are not a bit like what I imagined a schoolma'am was like."

"Did you think I wore blue glasses and petted a black cat?" she asked
laughingly.

"The glasses might be a protection to susceptible young men," he
answered, "and for that reason I would advise you to wear them."

"Shall I get some to-morrow to wear while you are here?" she queried
with a smile. "I will if you feel in danger."

"Would you do it if I admitted I was?" he replied, resolving to stand
his ground, and looking squarely at her.

But that elusive young lady was not to be cornered.

"You remind me of a story Bert told once," she said, "about an Irishman
who was called upon to plead guilty or not guilty to the charge of
drunkenness. When asked afterwards how he pleaded he said: 'Bedad, I
give the judge an equivocal answer.' 'And