wed
by a great awakening--as, in fact, it had been--Barbara, slim, straight,
and fifteen, softly asked her mother to linger behind the parting
congregation for Fannie. As Miss Halliday joined them John, from the
other aisle, bowed so pathetically to his Sunday-school teacher that
when she turned again to smile on Barbara and her mother she laughed,
quite against her will. The mother and daughter remained grave.

"Fannie," said Mrs. Garnet, her hand stealing into the girl's, "I'm
troubled about that boy." Barbara walked ahead pretending not to hear,
but listening hard.

"Law! Cousin Rose, so'm I! I wish he'd get religion or something. Don't
look so at me, Cousin Rose, you _make_ me smile. I'm really trying to
help him, but the more I try the worse I fail. If I should meet him on
the straight road to ruin I shouldn't know what to say to him; I'm a
pagan myself."

XVII.

THE ROSEMONT ATMOSPHERE

About this time Barbara came into new surroundings. She had been
wondering for a month what matter of disagreement her father and mother
were trying to be very secret about, when one morning at breakfast her
father said, while her mother looked out the window:

"Barb, we've decided to send you to Montrose to stay." And while she was
still gazing at him speechlessly, a gulping sob came from behind her
mother's chair and Johanna ran from the room.

Barbara never forgot that day. Nor did her memory ever lose the picture
of her father, as he came alone to see her the next day after her
entrance into the academy, standing before the Misses Kinsington--who
were as good as they were thin, and as sweet as they were
aristocratic--winning their impetuous approval with the confession that
the atmosphere of a male college--even though it was Rosemont--was not
good for a young girl. While neither of the Misses Kinsington gave a
hand to him either for welcome or farewell, when Mademoiselle
Eglantine--who taught drawing, history, and French--happened in upon
father and daughter a second time, after they had been left to say
good-by alone, the hand of Mademoiselle lingered so long in his that
Barbara concluded he had forgotten it was there.

"She's quite European in her way, isn't she, Barb?"

The daughter was mute, for she had from time to time noticed several
women shake hands with her large-hearted father thus.

Twice a week Barbara spent an afternoon and night at Rosemont. Whether
her father really thought its atmosphere d