t with a trembling rustle that
could be heard all over the room.

The open page was before him; but the letters only danced before his
eyes. He spread the paper as before, flat upon his knee, ere he could
read.

The one short line, the line of which every word was as he expected,
stood clear before him. He felt now a vague sort of wonder that the
brief, picked sentences should have affected him as they had. He had
already known what they told for so long--ever since his name was
spoken at the door--ages ago. He looked hesitatingly around the room.
Several students were scrutinizing him curiously, as though expecting
something. Oh, yes--that recalled him. He must go--home. He hated to
interrupt the lecture, but he must. He got up unsteadily, and started
down the stair, groping his way uncertainly, as a man walks in the
dark.

The kind old dean waited in silence until Landers had passed
hesitatingly through the door; then followed him out into the hall. A
moment, and he returned, standing abstractedly by the lecture table.
He picked up his scattered notes absently, shaking the ends even with
a painstaking hand; then as carefully scattered them as before. He
looked up at the silent, waiting class, and those who were near saw
the tears sparkling in the mild old eyes.

"Landers' father is dead," came the simple, hushed announcement.

V

The bright afternoon sun of late October shone slantingly on the train
of weathered wagons that stretched out like an uncoiling spring from
the group collected in front of the little farm-house. From near and
afar the neighbors had gathered; and now, falling slowly into line,
they formed a chain a full quarter-mile in length.

Guy Landers was glad that at last it was over and they were out in the
sunshine once more. He turned into the carefully reserved place at the
head of the procession with almost a sense of relief. He was tired,
fiercely tired, of the well-meant but insistent pity which dogged him
with a tenacity that drove him desperate. They would not even allow
him to think.

He rode alone on the front seat of the open wagon. Behind him, his
mother and Jim sat stiffly, hand in hand. They gazed dully at the
black thing ahead, and sobbed softly, now singly, now together.
Both--himself as well--were dressed in complete black; old musty
black, gotten out of the dark, hurriedly, and with the close smell of
the closet still upon it. Even the horses conformed to the sober
shad