power at work under the old mill. What was lacking that it had
fallen into disuse and closed its eyes upon an unappreciative world?

"It's a picturesque place, eh, Sylvia?" Thinkright repeated his
question as she gazed and kept silence.

"Yes," she replied, "but the view above was--there aren't words."

"True;" her companion nodded. "You see a farm wouldn't do well at such
a height, so we have to come down to shorter views and shorter
distances; but it's a great thing to know that all the grandeur is
there. We've seen it, and we know we've seen it, and we can't forget
it; it's an inspiration to us. It takes a lot of wisdom to sail out on
that ocean you saw up there, to avoid the ledges and to manage wisely
in the winds; but to sail or row about on this basin is within the
power of most landlubbers. Nature's always reading us life lessons,
Sylvia, always."

"I'm not one of the afraid kind," returned the girl, with a toss of her
head. "I only wish I had a chance to go out on that ocean."

"Yes, I know. On the stage, for instance," returned her companion. "The
ledges and the squalls have no terrors for you."

"I hope I have some brains and some common sense," she answered.

Thinkright laid a kind hand on her shoulder. "It's perfectly true that
neither ledge nor wind could harm you if you knew why. Daniel was safe
in the lions' den, but it was because he knew why."

At the touch of his hand the girl shrunk away, and he instantly dropped
it. Her blue eyes met his now, dark and cold. "I have found that you
don't always think right," she said. "Why did you deceive me?"

Her companion looked at his watch.

"We'd better be walking along," he remarked, and they entered a
well-worn path just wide enough for two that led through the woods, but
kept close to the small salt lake, whose shining blue shimmered between
the branches.

"I haven't deceived you, little one," he answered.

"You knew that nothing would have induced me to be a guest at Judge
Trent's farm," declared the girl hotly.

"What's the difference?" asked her companion mildly. "You were eating
his bread in Boston."

Sylvia's cheeks flushed. "I--I"--she hesitated, "I wasn't going to do
it long."

"You shan't do it here a day longer than you wish to," returned
Thinkright. "Now, child, suppose a case. Suppose your Uncle Calvin and
your Aunt Martha had shown you perfect love instead of indifference,
how would you have felt toward them?"

"Loved them, of