n the straight road bowling along like a mail coach.
"After I spoke to you as I did the other night--you know, when Tom--I
could not eat or sleep. Oh, I was in so much trouble! You and I had
always been such real friends, and you have always been so good to me--"
a rare little lump was rapidly and alarmingly growing in her throat--"I
have never had even an unkind look from you, and to speak to you as I
did,--oh, Dic,--" the lump grew too large for easy utterance, and she
stopped speaking. Dic was wise in not pursuing the ebb, but he was
foolish in not catching the flood. But perhaps if he would wait, it
might ingulf him of its own accord, and then, ah, then, the sweetness of
it!

"Never think of it again," he said soothingly. "Your words hurt me at
the time, but your kind, frank letter cured the pain, and I intended
never to speak of it. But since you have spoken, I--I--"

The girl was frightened, although eager to hear what he would say, so
she remained silent during Dic's long pause, and at length he said, "I
thank you for the letter."

A sigh of mingled relief and disappointment came from her breast.

"It gave me great pleasure, for it made me know that you were still my
friend," said Dic, "and that your words were meant for Tom, and not for
me."

"Indeed, not for you," said Rita, still struggling with the lump in her
throat.

"Let us never speak of it again," said Dic. "I'm glad it happened. It
puts our friendship on a firmer basis than ever before."

"That would be rather hard, to do, wouldn't it?" asked the girl,
laughing contentedly. "We have been such good friends ever since I was a
baby--since before I can remember."

The direct road was becoming too smooth for Rita, and she began to fear
she would not be able to stop.

"Let us make this bargain," said Dic. "When you want to say anything
unkind, say it to me. I'll not misunderstand."

"Very well," she replied laughingly, "the privilege may be a great
comfort to me at times. I, of course, dare not scold mother. If I look
cross at Tom, mother scolds me for a week, and I could not speak
unkindly to poor father. You see, I have no one to scold, and I'm sure
every one should have somebody to explode upon with impunity now and
then. So I'll accept your offer, and you may expect--" There was a brief
pause, after which she continued: "No, I'll not. Never again so long as
I live. You, of all others, shall be safe from my ill temper," and she
gave him her ha