There's nothing to _stay_ for! But my confounded
antipathy to a tussle in the hurly-burly of my fellow-men----"

At that moment a tap sounded upon the door panel.

"Come in," called Peter carelessly, supposing that a pupil had returned
for some forgotten possession. And he did not even look around until
an amused voice inquired: "So absorbed, Professor Peter?" Then he
turned to see Mrs. Caldwell, an old-fashioned picture in silvery gray,
smiling at him from the doorway.

"I've come for a serious talk," said she, when he had seated her beside
the sunniest window and established himself close by.

"Well," he answered ruefully, "you've come to the right place and the
right person. I was just considering--in these scholarly
surroundings--how I am wasting my life!"

"Really?" And she beamed on him hopefully. "Because that's the
beginning of better things. You _could_ amount to so much, Peter!"

But he shook his head: "Not here. And I'm too lazy to leave
Shadyville."

"Why not here? I don't want you to leave Shadyville. I can't do
without you! But I want you to do something splendid here. Peter, why
don't you write a book?"

He laughed: "Dear Mrs. Caldwell, to write a book requires more than the
determination or the wish to write one."

"Genius?"

"Not necessarily. But at least a special kind of ability. The divine
fire has never burned on my hearth--not even a tiny spark of it!"

"Then you think it's rather a great thing to be able to write?"

"I do indeed!" And the reverence of the book-lover thrilled through
his tone.

"I'm glad you feel that way about writers, Peter," she remarked archly,
"because--we have one up at our house." And she extended a note-book
to him, a thin, paper-backed book such as his class used for
compositions.

"You mean--Sheila?" For he had expected this.

"Yes. It's happened!--as I told you it would." And her voice was very
grave now.

He opened the book--and discovered that Sheila's efforts were poems.
"I'll read them to-night," he said cautiously.

But Mrs. Caldwell would not let him escape so easily: "No, Peter,
please. If you have the time, read them now. There are only a few,
and I can't go home without a message from you about them. Sheila's
waiting up there--and she's simply tense!"

"Then she knows you've brought them to me?"

"Of course. Do you think I'd have done it without her permission?
Peter, don't neglect your manners with your grandchil