violently to and fro, but he held on until the animal lay
still.

"Unhitch the hoss," he called, sharply.

"Well, that was pretty quick work for a boy," said a voice across the
street that sounded familiar, and Chad looked across to see General
Dean and Margaret watching him. The boy blushed furiously when his eyes
met Margaret's and he thought he saw her start slightly, but he lowered
his eyes and hurried away.

It was only a few days later that, going up from town toward the
campus, he turned a corner and there was Margaret alone and moving
slowly ahead of him. Hearing his steps she turned her head to see who
it was, but Chad kept his eyes on the ground and passed her without
looking up. And thus he went on, although she was close behind him,
across the street and to the turnstile. As he was passing through, a
voice rose behind him:

"You aren't very polite, little boy." He turned quickly--Margaret had
not gone around the corner: she, too, was coming through the campus and
there she stood, grave and demure, though her eyes were dancing.

"My mamma says a NICE little boy always lets a little GIRL go FIRST."

"I didn't know you was comin' through."

"Was comin' through!" Margaret made a little face as though to
say--"Oh, dear."

"I said I didn't know you were coming through this way."

Margaret shook her head. "No," she said; "no, you didn't."

"Well, that's what I meant to say." Chad was having a hard time with
his English. He had snatched his cap from his head, had stepped back
outside the stile and was waiting to turn it for her. Margaret passed
through and waited where the paths forked.

"Are you going up to the college?" she asked.

"I was--but I ain't now--if you'll let me walk a piece with you." He
was scarlet with confusion--a tribute that Chad rarely paid his kind.
His way of talking was very funny, to be sure, but had she not heard
her father say that "the poor little chap had had no chance in life;"
and Harry, that some day he would be the best in his class?

"Aren't you--Chad?"

"Yes--ain't you Margaret--Miss Margaret?"

"Yes, I'm Margaret." She was pleased with the hesitant title and the
boy's halting reverence.

"An' I called you a little gal." Margaret's laugh tinkled in merry
remembrance. "An' you wouldn't take my fish."

"I can't bear to touch them."

"I know," said Chad, remembering Melissa.

They passed a boy who knew Chad, but not Margaret. The lad took off his
hat, but Chad