s about my ears; and the ungrateful youth, who might fight
dragons, if he chose, insists on quenching his energies in a saucepan,
and making a Saint Lawrence of himself by wasting his life on a series
of gridirons. Ah, if I were only a man, I would do something better
than that, and prove that heroes are not all dead yet. But, instead of
that, I'm only a woman, and must sit rasping my temper with absurdities
like this." And Di wrestled with her knitting as if it were Fate, and
she were paying off the grudge she owed it.

John leaned toward her, saying, with a look that made his plain face
handsome,--

"Di, my father began the world as I begin it, and left it the richer
for the useful years he spent here,--as I hope I may leave it some
half-century hence. His memory makes that dingy shop a pleasant place
to me; for there he made an honest name, led an honest life and
bequeathed to me his reverence for honest work. That is a sort of
hardware, Di, that no rust can corrupt, and which will always prove a
better fortune than any your knights can achieve with sword and shield.
I think I am not quite a clod, or quite without some aspirations above
money-getting; for I sincerely desire that courage that makes daily
life heroic by self-denial and cheerfulness of heart; I am eager to
conquer my own rebellious nature, and earn the confidence of innocent
and upright souls; I have a great ambition to become as good a man and
leave as good a memory behind me as old John Lord."

Di winked violently, and seamed five times in perfect silence; but
quiet Nan had the gift of knowing when to speak, and by a timely word
saved her sister from a thunder-shower and her stocking from
destruction.

"John, have you seen Philip since you wrote about your last meeting
with him?"

The question was for John, but the soothing tone was for Di, who
gratefully accepted it, and perked up again with speed.

"Yes; and I meant to have told you about it," answered John, plunging
into the subject at once.

"I saw him a few days before I came home, and found him more
disconsolate than ever,--' just ready to go to the Devil,' as he
forcibly expressed himself. I consoled the poor lad as well as I could,
telling him his wisest plan was to defer his proposed expedition, and
go on as steadily as he had begun,--thereby proving the injustice of
your father's prediction concerning his want of perseverance, and the
sincerity of his affection. I told him the c