it? I won't have to give up school now! You
wouldn't make me, would you, when you know how I love it? Oh, it will
neahly _kill_ me if you do! Please say no, mothah! _Please_!"

Mrs. Sherman's eyes were full of tears. "My poor little girl," she
exclaimed as Lloyd threw herself into her arms. "I'm afraid we must do
as the doctor says. He would not ask such a sacrifice if it were not
necessary. You know how dearly he has always loved you."

Without waiting to hear any more, Lloyd sprang up and ran out of the
room. Rushing up-stairs, she bolted her door behind her, and threw
herself across the bed.

"It is the first great disappointment she has ever had in her life,"
said her mother, looking after her with a troubled face. "Couldn't you
make the sentence a little easier, doctor? Couldn't she go back and take
one study, just to be with the girls?"

He shook his head. "No, Elizabeth. She is too ambitious and high-strung
for that. One study wouldn't satisfy her. She'd chafe at not being able
to keep up in everything. She has nothing serious the matter with her
now, but it would not take long to make a wreck of her health at the
gait she has been going. There must be no more parties, no more regular
school work, and even no more music lessons this winter. She must have
the simplest kind of a life. Keep her out-of-doors all you can. A little
prevention now will be worth pounds of cure after awhile."

"I suppose you are right, Dick," said the old Colonel, huskily, "but I
swear I'd give the only arm the Yankees left me to save her from this
disappointment."

Lying across the bed up-stairs, Lloyd cried and sobbed until she was
exhausted. The handkerchief clutched in her hand in a damp little ball
had wiped away the bitterest tears she had ever shed. In her inmost
heart she knew that the doctor was right. It had been weeks since she
had felt strong and well. She remembered the way she had lagged behind
at the picnic, and what an effort it had been to talk and make herself
agreeable lately. Recalling the last few weeks, it seemed to her that
she had been in tears half the time. She admitted to herself that she
would rather be dead than to be an invalid for life like her great-aunt
Jane. To sit always in a darkened room that smelled of camphor, and to
talk in a weak, complaining voice that made everybody tired. Of course
if there was danger of her growing to be like _her_, she would rather
leave school than run such a risk. But