, I have a plan," he said. "You remember Gordon Keith, the boy
whose boat I sank over in England--'Keith the rebel'?"

Mrs. Wentworth remembered well. She remembered an older fight than that,
between a Keith and a Wentworth.

"Well, I have just heard of him. Rhodes--you remember Rhodes? Grinnell
Rhodes? Used to be stroke, the greatest stroke ever was. Well, Rhodes
has been down South and stayed at Keith's father's home. He says it's a
beautiful old place, and now belongs to Mr. Wickersham, Ferdy's father,
and the old gentleman, General Keith, who used to own it farms it for
him. Think of that! It's as if father had to be a bookkeeper in the
bank! Rhodes says he's a fine old fellow, and that Gordon is one of the
best. He was down there running a railway line for Mr. Wickersham, and
took Gordon with him. And he says he's the finest sort of a fellow, and
wants to go to college dreadfully, but hasn't a cent nor any way to get
anything. Rhodes says it's awful down there. They are so poor."

Mrs. Wentworth smiled. "Well?"

Norman blushed and stammered a little, as he often did when he was
embarrassed.

"Well, you know I have some money of my own, and I thought if you don't
mind it I'd like to lend him a little. I feel rather piggish just
spending it right and left for nothing, when a fellow like that would
give his eyes for the chance to go to college. Grinnell Rhodes says that
he is ever so fond of me; that Ferdy was blowing once and said something
against me, and Gordon jumped right into him--said I was a friend of
his, and that Ferdy should not say anything against me in his presence.
He knocked Ferdy down. I tell you, when a fellow is ready to fight for
another years after he has seen him, he is a good friend."

Mrs. Wentworth's face showed that she too appreciated such a friend.

"How do you know he needs it, or would accept it if he did?"

"Why, Rhodes says we have no idea of the poverty down there. He says our
poorest clerks are rich compared with those people. And I'll write him a
letter and offer to lend it to him. I'll tell him it's mine."

Mrs. Wentworth went over and kissed the boy. The picture rose to her
mind of a young man fresh from fields where he had won renown, honored
by his State, with everything that wealth and rank could give, laying
his honors at the feet of a poor young girl.

"All right, my son."

That night Norman sat down and wrote a letter.

A few days later than this, Gordon Keith re