asier way to delight a New Englander's fancy at this
time of year," said the gray president. "Or is your friend a Southern
man?"

"Oh--eh--no, sir, she's a Southern girl. I--well, I had to write her on
business, anyhow, and I just yielded to the impulse--wrote it, really,
more to myself than----"

Mr. March dreamed a moment and presently spoke again.

"It's barely possible I shall have to leave town to-morrow or next day,
sir; if I don't I'll try to meet your wish. Well, sir, good-day." He
galloped on.

John had often before left Suez and crossed the old battle-field
benumbed with consternation and galled with doubts of himself; but he
had always breathed in new strength among the Widewood hills. Not so
to-day. When once or twice he let his warm horse walk and his thought
seek rest, the approbations of Proudfit and Shotwell, Parson Tombs, the
president of Suez University, and such--Oh! they only filled him with
gaspings. He tried to think what man of real weight there still was with
whose efforts he might "harmoniously combine" his own; but he knew well
enough there was not one who had not, seemingly through some error of
his, drifted beyond his hail.

As the turnings of the mountain road led him from each familiar vista to
the next, more and more grievously bore down upon his spirit the sacred
charge which he had inherited along with this majestic forest. His
father's presence and voice seemed with him again as at one point he
halted a moment because it had been the father's habit to do so, and
gazed far down and away upon Suez and off in the west where Rosemont's
roof and grove lay in a flood of sunlight.

"Oh, son," he could almost hear the dear voice say again, as just there
it had once said, "I do believe it's fah betteh to get cheated once in a
while than to be afraid to trust those who're not afraid to trust us.
Why, son, we wouldn't ever a-been father and son at all, only for the
sweet trustfulness of yo' dear motheh. Think o' that, son; you an' me
neveh bein' any relation to each otheh!"

The rider's bosom heaved. But the next moment he was hearkening. A
distant strain of human mirth came softly from farther up in the wooded
hills; one and no more, as if those who made it had descended from some
swell of the land into one of its tangled hollows. He listened in vain.
All he heard was that beloved long-lost voice saying once more in his
lonely heart, "Make haste and grow, son." He put in the spur.

Down