“The aim is high, the kind I would expect of you.  Do you know, Dorian, your father had some such ambition.  That’s one of the reasons we came to the country in hopes that some day he would have more time for studying.”

“I never knew that, mother.”

“And now, what if your father and Uncle Zed are talking about the matter up there in the spirit world.”

Dorian thought of that for a few moments.  Then:  “I’ll have to go to the University for four years, but that’s only a beginning.  Ill have to go East to Yale or Harvard and get all they have.  Then will come a lot of individual research, and—­Oh, mother, I don’t know.”

“And all the time you’ll have to keep near to God and never lose your faith in the gospel, for what doth it profit if you gain the whole world of knowledge and lose your own soul.”  The mother came to him and ran her fingers lovingly through his hair.  “But you’re equal to it, my son; I believe you can do it.”

This was a sample of many such discussions, and the conclusion was reached that Dorian should work harder than ever, if that were possible, for two or perhaps three years, by which time the farms could be rented and the income derived from them be enough to provide for the mother’s simple needs and the son’s expenses while at school.

Spring came early that year, and Dorian was glad of it, for he was eager to be out in the growing world and turn that growth to productiveness.  When the warm weather came for good, books were laid aside, though not forgotten.  From daylight until dark, he was busy.  The home farm was well planted, the dry-farm wheat was growing beautifully.  Between the two, prospects were bright for the furthering of their plans.

“Mother, when and where in this great plan of ours, am I to get married?”

Dorian and his mother were enjoying the dusk and the cool of the evening within odorous reach of Mrs. Trent’s flowers, many of which had come from Uncle Zed’s garden.  They had been talking over some details of their “plan.”  Mrs. Trent laughed at the abruptness of the question.

“Oh, do you want to get married?” she asked, wondering what there might be to this query.

“Well—­sometimes, of course, I’ll have to have a wife, won’t I?”

“Certainly, in good time; but you’re in no hurry, are you?”

“Oh, no; I’m just talking on general principles.  There’s no one who would have me now.”

The mother did not dispute this.  She knew somewhat of his feelings toward Carlia.  These lovers’ misunderstandings were not serious, she thought to herself.  All would end properly and well, in good time.