not on dominion, but on justice and
right. She spoke of the England she had visited on her wedding journey,
of the landmarks and literature that also through generations have
been American birthrights; and of that righteous self-assertion and
independence which, by protest and even by war, America had contributed
to the democracy of the future. Silliston, indifferent to cults and
cataclysms, undisturbed by the dark tides flung westward to gather in
deposits in other parts of the land, had held fast to the old tradition,
stood ready to do her share to transform it into something even nobler
when the time should come. Simplicity and worth and beauty--these
elements at least of the older Republic should not perish, but in the
end prevail.

She spoke simply of these things, connecting them with a Silliston whose
spirit appealed to all that was inherent and abiding in the girl. All
was not chaos: here at least, a beacon burned with a bright and steady
flame. And she spoke of Andrew Silliston, the sturdy colonial prototype
of the American culture, who had fought against his King, who had spent
his modest fortune to found this seat of learning, believing as he did
that education is the cornerstone of republics; divining that lasting
unity is possible alone by the transformation of the individual into the
citizen through voluntary bestowal of service and the fruits of labour.
Samuel Wootton, the Boston merchant who had given the hospital, was
Andrew's true descendant, imbued with the same half-conscious intuition
that builds even better that it reeks. And Andrew, could he have
returns to earth in his laced coat and long silk waistcoat, would still
recognize his own soul in Silliston Academy, the soul of his creed and
race.

"Away down the river,
A hundred miles or more,
Other little children
Shall bring my boats ashore."...

Janet drew in a great breath, involuntarily. These were moments when
it seemed that she could scarcely contain what she felt of beauty
and significance, when the ecstasy and pain were not to be borne. And
sometimes, as she listened to Mrs. Maturin's voice, she wept in silence.
Again a strange peace descended on her, the peace of an exile come home;
if not to remain, at least to know her own land and people before faring
forth. She would not think of that faring yet awhile, but strive to live
and taste the present--and yet as life flowed back into her veins that
past aros