'll
make her forget to prance and grin unless she does it for me. The
master's just training her away from me and putting notions in her head.
I'll take her to the States--maybe her dancing will help us both there.
I don't mean to drudge as Jamsie Hornby does! Better things for me!"

Sex attraction swayed Jerry-Jo madly in those days and he thought it
love, as many a better man had done before him. The blood of his mother
controlled him largely and he wished that he might carry the girl off to
his wigwam, and, at his leisure, with beads and blankets, or other less
tangible methods, win her and conquer her. But present conditions held
the boy in check and compelled him to adopt more modern tactics. He
stole, when he couldn't beg, from his poor father all the money Jerry
wrenched from an occasional day's work. With this he bought books for
Priscilla, vaguely realizing that these would most interest her, but his
selection often made her laugh. Piqued by her indifference, Jerry-Jo
plotted a thing that led, later, to tragic results. Remembering the
favour Priscilla had long ago shown for the book from Far Hill Place, he
decided to utilize the taste of the absent owner, and the owner himself,
for his own ends, not realizing that Priscilla had never connected the
cripple Jerry-Jo had described, with the musician of the magic summer
afternoon that had set her life in new currents.

It was an easy matter to enter the Far Hill Place, and, where one was
not troubled with conscience, a simple thing to select at random, but
with economy, books from the well-filled shelves. These gifts presently
found their way to Priscilla, cunningly disguised as mail packages.
Inadvertently the very book Priscilla had once cried over came to her and
touched her strangely.

"Why should he send me these--send me this?" she asked Jerry-Jo, who had
brought the package to her.

"He always wanted you to have it. I told you that; he remembers, I
suppose, and wants you to have it. He said it was more yours than his."
To test her Jerry-Jo was hiding behind Travers.

"I'd walk a hundred miles over the rock on bare feet to thank him," the
girl replied, her big eyes shining. And with the words there entered into
Jerry-Jo's distorted imagination a concrete and lasting jealousy of poor
Dick Travers, who was innocent of any actual memory of Priscilla Glenn.
Travers at that time was studying as few college men do, always with the
spur of lost years and a big