“Dick, Dick True, we’ve found it at last!  Listen: 

“Two gentlemen can be pleasantly accommodated at ‘The Willows.’  Address Miss Chillingworth, University P.O.  Box 123.

“The University Post Office is just near the College, you know, Dick, so it is in a good location.  Two gentlemen—­that means you and me, Dick; and ‘The Willows’ means running brooks, or ought to, if they are any sort of respectable trees.”

The boy clapped his hands.  “When can we go, John?”

John laughed.  “Not so fast, Dick.  There may be other gentlemen in Marlborough on the lookout for a suburban residence.  I addressed Miss Chillingworth on paper this morning, telling her I should give myself the pleasure of addressing her in person to-morrow.  It is a half holiday, you know, Dick.  I like the ring of this advertisement.  There is no fuss and feathers about it.  She doesn’t offer city privileges and promise ice cream with every meal.”

“But, John,” said the boy, ruefully, “we’re not gentlemen.  You don’t wear a silk hat, you know, and I have no white shirts—­nothing but these paper fronts.  I hate paper fronts!  They’re such shams!

“Oh, ho!  Dick, so you’re pining for frills, eh?  Well, if it will make you feel more comfortable, we’ll go down to Stewart’s and get fitted out to your satisfaction.  But don’t forget that you can be a gentleman in homespun as well as broadcloth, Dick.  Real diamonds don’t need to borrow any luster from their setting; only the paste do that.”

The next afternoon John strode along in the direction of ‘The Willows’ to the accompaniment of a merry whistle.  It did him good to get out into the open country once more, and he felt sure it would be worth a king’s ransom to Dick; but when he came in sight of the house he hesitated.  There must be some mistake.  This was not the sort of house to open its doors to boarders.  “Poor Dick!” he soliloquized, “no wonder you felt a premonitory sense of the fitness of frills!  Well, I’ll go and inquire.  They can only say ‘No,’ and that won’t annihilate me.”

He was ushered into Miss Diana’s presence, and on the instant forgot everything but Miss Diana herself.  Before he realized what he was doing he had explained the reason of his seeking a suburban home, and, drawn on by her gentle sympathy, was telling her the story of his life.  Miss Diana had a way of compelling confidence, and the people who gave it to her never afterwards regretted the gift.  With the straightforwardness which was a part of his nature he told his story.  It never occurred to him that there was anything peculiar about it, yet when he had finished there were tears in his listener’s eyes.

When at length he rose to go, everything was settled between them.  John’s eyes wandered round the room and then rested again with a curious sense of pleasure upon Miss Diana’s face.

“I cannot begin to thank you,” he said, gratefully, “for allowing us to come here.  I never dared to hope that my poor little Dick would have such an education as this home will be to him, but I feel sure you will learn to like Dick True.”