“Well, last night’s talk led me to believe that you would become a philosopher; now, the trend is more toward the doctor; tomorrow I’ll think you are studying law.”

“Oh, but we are, mother; you ought to hear us in our civil government class.  We have organized into a Congress of the United States, and we are going to make laws.”

“You’ll be elected President, I suppose.”

“I’m one of the candidates.”

“Well, my boy” she smiled happily at him, “I hope you will be elected to every good thing, and that you will fill every post with honor; and now, I would like you to read to me from the ‘Lady of the Lake’ while I darn your stockings.  Your father used to read the story to me a long, long time ago, and your voice is very much like his when you read.”

And thus with school and home and ward duties the winter passed.  Spring called him again to the fields to which he went with new zeal, for life was opening to him in a way which life is in the habit of doing to the young of his age.  Mildred Brown and her mother were in California.  He heard from her occasionally by way of postcards, and once she sent him one of her sketches of the ocean.  Carlia Duke also was not forgotten by Mildred.  Dorian and Carlia met frequently as neighbors will do, and they often spoke of their mutual friend.  The harvest was again good that fall, and Dorian once more took up his studies at the high school in the city.  Carlia finished the grades as Dorian completed his second year, and the following year Carlia walked with Dorian to the high school.  That was no great task for the girl, now nearly grown to young womanhood, and it was company for both of them.  During these walks Carlia had many questions to ask about her lessons, and Dorian was always pleased to help her.

“I am such a dunce,” she would say, “I wish I was as smart as you.”

“You must say ‘were’ when you wish.  I were as smart as you,” he corrected.

“O, yes:  I forgot.  My, but grammar is hard, especially to a girl which—­”

“No—­a girl who; which refers to objects and animals, who to persons.”

Carlia laughed and swung her books by the strap.  Dorian was not carrying them that day.  Sometimes he was absentminded regarding the little courtesies.

The snow lay hard packed in the road and it creaked under their feet.  Carlia’s cheeks glowed redder than ever in contact with the keen winter air.  They walked on in silence for a time.

“Say, Dorian, why do you not go and see Mildred?” asked Carlia, not looking at him, but rather at the eastern mountains.

“Why?  Is she not well?”

“She is never well now.  She looks bad to me.”

“When did you see her?”

“Last Saturday.  I called at the house, and she asked about you—­Poor girl!”

“What do you mean by that?”

“You are very smart in some things, but are a stupid dunce in other things.  Mildred is like an angel both in looks and—­everything.  I wish I was—­were half as good.”