about college?"

"Well, you went to college," she answered argumentatively. "My sister
Fairy is going now. She's very clever,--oh, very. You'll like her, I am
sure,--much better than you do me, of course." Prudence was strangely
downcast.

"I am sure I won't," said Jerrold Harmer, with unnecessary vehemence. "I
don't care a thing for college girls. I know a lot of them, and--aw,
they make a fellow tired. I like home girls,--the kind that stay at
home, and keep house, and are sweet, and comfortable, and all that."
Jerrold flipped over abruptly, and lay on the grass, his face on his arms
turned toward her face. They were quiet for a while, but their glances
were clinging.

"Your eyes are brown, aren't they?" Prudence smiled, as though she had
made a pleasant discovery.

"Yes. Yours are blue. I noticed that, first thing."

"Did you? Do you like blue eyes? They aren't as--well, as strong and
expressive as brown eyes. Fairy's are brown."

"I like blue eyes best. They are so much brighter and deeper. You can't
see clear to the bottom of blue eyes,--you have to keep looking." And he
did keep looking.

"Did you play football at college? You are so tall. Fairy's tall, too.
Fairy's very grand-looking. I've tried my best to eat lots, and
exercise, and make myself bigger, but--I am a fizzle."

"Yes, I played football.--But girls do not need to be so tall as men.
Don't you remember what Orlando said about Rosalind,--'just as tall as my
heart'? I imagine you come about to my shoulder. We'll measure as soon
as you are on your feet again."

"Are you going to live in Mount Mark now? Are you coming to stay?"
Prudence was almost quivering as she asked this. It was of vital
importance.

"No, I will only be there a few days, but I shall probably be back every
week or so. Is your father very strict? Maybe he would object to your
writing to me."

"Oh, he isn't strict at all. And he will be glad for me to write to you,
I know. I write to two or three men when they are away. But they
are--oh, I do not know exactly what it is, but I do not really like to
write to them. I believe I'll quit. It's such a bother."

"Yes, it is, that's so. I think I would quit, if I were you. I was just
thinking how silly it is for me to keep on writing to some girls I used
to know. Don't care two cents about 'em. I'm going to cut it out as
soon as I get home. But you will write to me, won't you?"

"Yes, of course.