tand," he called over his shoulder. "Thank you, very
much."

He whistled softly to himself as he continued on his way, still glancing
about alertly.

The manner of the old professor in receiving the letter and the calmness
with which he had given his reply minimized the importance of the
transaction in the mind of the messenger. He was thinking of Sylvia and
smiling still at her implication that while there were larger colleges
than Madison there was none better. He turned to look again at the
college buildings closely clasped by their strip of woodland. Madison
was not a college to sneer at; he had scanned the bronze tablet on the
library wall that published the roll of her Sons who had served in the
Civil War. Many of the names were written high in the state's history
and for a moment they filled the young man's mind.

As she neared home Sylvia met her friend Dr. Wandless, the former
president, who always had his joke with her.

"Hail, Lady of the Constellations! You have been looting the library, I
see. Hast thou named the stars without a gun?"

"That isn't right," protested Sylvia. "You're purposely misquoting.
You've only spoiled Emerson's line about the birds."

"Bless me, I believe that's so!" laughed the old gentleman. "But tell
me, Sylvia: 'Canst thou bind the sweet influences of Pleiades, or loose
the bands of Orion? Canst thou bring forth Mazzaroth in his season? or
guide Arcturus with his sons?'"

Sylvia, with brightening eyes and a smile on her lips, answered:--

"Knowest thou the ordinances of heaven? canst thou set the dominion
thereof in the earth?"

"Ah, if only I could, Sylvia!" said the old minister, smiling gravely.

They came in high spirits to the parting of their ways and Sylvia kept
on through the hedge to her grandfather's cottage. The minister turned
once, a venerable figure with snowy beard and hair, and beat the path
softly with his stick and glanced back, as Sylvia's red ribbon bobbed
through the greenery.

"'Whose daughter art thou?'" he murmured gently.

Then, glancing furtively about, he increased his gait as though to
escape from his own thoughts; but the question asked of Bethuel's
daughter by Abraham's servant came again to his lips, and he shook his
head as he repeated:--

"Whose daughter art thou?"

CHAPTER II

SYLVIA GOES VISITING

"How old did you say you were, Sylvia?"

"I'm sixteen in October, grandpa," answered Sylvia.

"Is it possible!" murmured