“We meant it—­” said Ferdie, and paused.

“—­for your good,” said Thompson.

“Oh, well, if you meant it for my good!” said Boland graciously.  “All the same, if I ever decide to ‘be somebody,’ I’m going to be Francis Charles Boland, and not a dismal imitation of a copy of some celebrated poseur—­I’ll tell you those!  Speaking as a man of liberal—­or lax—­morality, you surprise me.  You are godly and cleanly men; yet, when you saw in me a gem of purest ray serene, did you appeal to my better nature?  Nary!  In a wild and topsy-turvy world, did you implore me to devote my splendid and unwasted energies in the service of Good, with a capital G?  Nix!  You appealed to ambition, egotism, and greed....  Fie!  A fie upon each of you!”

“Don’t do that!  Have mercy!  We appeal to your better nature.  We repent.”

“All the same, I am going for my stroll, rejoined the youth, striving to repress his righteous indignation out of consideration for his humiliated companions, who now—­alas, too late!—­saw their conduct in its true light.  For, he continued, with a flashing look from his intelligent eyes, I desire no pedestal; I am not avaricious.  Be mine the short and simple flannels of the poor.”

* * * * *

An hour later Francis Charles paused in his strolling, cap in hand, and turned back with Mary Selden.

“How fortunate!” he said.

“Isn’t it?” said Miss Selden.  “Odd, too, considering that I take this road home every evening after school is out.  And when we reflect that you chanced this way last Thursday at half-past four—­and again on Friday—­it amounts to a coincidence.”

“Direction of the subconscious mind,” explained Francis Charles, unabashed.  “Profound meditation—­thirst for knowledge.  What more natural than that my heedless foot should stray, instinctively as it were, toward the—­the—­”

“—­old oaken schoolhouse that stood in a swamp.  It is a shame, of the burning variety, that a State as wealthy as New York doesn’t and won’t provide country schools with playgrounds big enough for anything but tiddledy-winks!” declared Miss Selden.  Her fine firm lip curled.  Then she turned her clear gray eyes upon Mr. Boland.  “Excuse me for interrupting you, please.”

“Don’t mention it!  People always have to interrupt me when they want to say anything.  And now may I put a question or two?  About—­geography—­history—­that sort of thing?”

The eyes further considered Mr. Boland.

“You are not very complimentary to Mr. Thompson’s house party, I think,” said Mary in a cool, little, matter-of-fact voice.

Altogether a cool-headed and practical young lady, this midget schoolma’am, with her uncompromising directness of speech and her clear eyes—­a merry, mirthful, frank, dainty, altogether delightful small person.

Francis Charles stole an appreciative glance at the trim and jaunty figure beside him and answered evasively: