shcripcherral" or "ee-vangelical" views, but nevertheless breathed
an atmosphere of scriptural patience and evangelical fortitude and
Christian victory over the world's tribulations. Little Katy couldn't
have defined, the difference between the two in words; she never
attempted it but once, and then she said that Mrs. Ferret was like a
crabapple, and her mother like a Bartlett pear.

But she was too much excited to stay long in one place, and so she
hurried home and went to talking to Cousin Isa, who was sewing by the
west window. And to her she poured forth praises of Albert without stint;
of his immense knowledge of everything, of his goodness and his beauty
and his strength, and his voice, and his eyes.

"And you'll love him better'n you ever loved anybody," she wound up.

And Cousin Isa said she didn't know about that.

After all this weary waiting Albert had come. He had not been at home for
two years. It was during his absence that his mother had married Squire
Plausaby, and had moved to Minnesota. He wanted to see everybody at home.
His sister had written him favorable accounts of his step-father; he had
heard other accounts, not quite so favorable, perhaps. He persuaded
himself that like a dutiful son he wanted most to see his mother, who was
really very fond of him. But in truth he spent his spare time in thinking
about Katy. He sincerely believed that he loved his mother better than
anybody in the world. All his college cronies knew that the idol of his
heart was Katy, whose daguerreotype he carried in the inside pocket of
his vest, and whose letters he looked for with the eagerness of a lover.

At last he had come, and Katy had carried him off into the house in
triumph, showing him--showing is the word, I think--showing him to her
mother, whom he kissed tenderly, and to her step-father, and most
triumphantly to Isa, with an air that said, "_Now_, isn't he just the
finest fellow in the world!" And she was not a little indignant that Isa
was so quiet in her treatment of the big brother. Couldn't she see what a
forehead and eyes he had?

And the mother, with one shade of scarlet and two of pink in her
hair-ribbons, was rather proud of her son, but not satisfied.

"Why _didn't_ you graduate?" she queried as she poured the coffee
at supper.

"Because there were so many studies in the course which were a dead
waste of time. I learned six times as much as some of the dunderheads
that got sheepskins, and the