fused.

"Pardon me, Miss Preston," he said. "Captain Eri sent me here. He said
he left something with Josiah, and wished me to call for it."

"Why, I'm sure I don't know what it can be," replied Elsie. "Josiah has
been gone for some time, and he said nothing to me about it."

"Perhaps it is in his desk," suggested Ralph. "Suppose we look."

So they looked, but found nothing more than the usual assortment
contained in the desk of a healthy schoolboy. The raised lid shut off
the light from the window, and the desk's interior was rather dark. They
had to grope in the corners, and occasionally their hands touched. Every
time this happened Ralph thought of the decision that he must make so
soon.

He thought of it still more when, after the search was abandoned, Elsie
suggested that he help her with some problems that she was preparing for
the next day's labors of the first class in arithmetic. In fact, as he
sat beside her, pretending to figure, but really watching her dainty
profile as it moved back and forth before his eyes, his own particular
problem received far more attention than did those of the class.
Suddenly he spoke:

"Teacher," he said, "please, may I ask a question?"

"You should hold up your hand if you wish permission to speak," was the
stern reply.

"Please consider it held up."

"Is the question as important as 'How many bushels did C. sell?' which
happens to be my particular trouble just now."

"It is to me, certainly." Ralph was serious enough now. "It is a
question that I have been wrestling with for some time. It is, shall I
take the position that has been offered me in the West, or shall I stay
here and become superintendent of the station? The superintendent's
place may be mine, I think, if I want it."

Elsie laid down her pencil and hesitated for a moment before she spoke.
When she did reply her face was turned away from her companion.

"I should think that question might best be decided by comparing the
salaries and prospects of the two positions," she said quietly.

"The two positions are much alike in one way. You know what the life at
the station means the greater portion of the year--no companions of
your own age and condition, no society, no amusements. The Western offer
means all this and worse, for the situation is the same all the year. I
say these things because I hope you may be willing to consider them, not
from my point of view solely, but from yours."

"From mine?"

"Y