She had just fastened on her skates one day when a rather breathless voice behind her said,

“Going for a skate, Miss Dudley?” and Professor Willis, skates over his shoulder, bore down on her.

Lydia blushed vividly—­“I—­I often skate home.  I live three miles down the shore.”

“Rather thought I’d have a try myself, if you don’t mind.”

“Heavens!” thought Lydia.  “I hope he won’t come clear home with me?  The house looks awful!”

Willis fastened on his skates and stood up.  “Which way?” he asked.

Lydia nodded homeward and started off silently, the Harvard man close beside her.

“You enjoy your Shakespeare work, Miss Dudley?” he asked.

“Oh, yes!” cried Lydia.  “That most of anything.  Don’t you love to teach it?”

“Er—­in some ways!  I will admit that the co-educational end of it is very trying to an Eastern college man.”

This was such a surprising view to Lydia that she forgot to be bashful.  “Don’t you like girls, Professor Willis?” she asked.

“Not in a boys’ classroom—­that is—­at first the situation brought cold sweat to my face.  But now, I carry on the work to a great extent for you.  You are the only person with a background, don’t you know.”

Lydia didn’t know.  The Harvard man’s voice, however, was entirely impersonal, so she ventured to explore.

“What do you mean by background?”

“If you wouldn’t skate so outrageously fast,” he panted, “I could tell you with more—­more aplomb.”

“But,” explained Lydia, “I have to skate fast.  There’s always so much to be done and old Lizzie isn’t well.”

She looked at the Shakespeare professor innocently.  He looked at his watch.

“Dear me!” he said, “I must be back in the classroom in half an hour.  Supposing we continue this conversation to-morrow, in your own home, Miss Dudley?  May I call to-morrow night?”

“Why yes,” replied Lydia, in utter embarrassment again, “if you really want to!  It’s a dreadful trip,—­to the end of the car line and half a mile along the road to a white cottage after that.”

“That’s nothing,” said the Harvard man, gravely.  “Till to-morrow night then,” and lifting his cap, he skated back, leaving Lydia in a state of mind difficult to define.

She told Lizzie and her father that evening.  Amos looked over his paper with a slight scowl.  “You’re too young to have a college professor calling.”

“Well,” cried Lydia, “you don’t seem to realize how wonderful it is that he wants to take this awful trip out here, just to see me.  And don’t let it worry you, Daddy!  He’ll never want to come but once.”  She looked around the living-room disgustedly.

Amos started to speak, looked at Lizzie, who shook her head, and subsided.  The older Lydia grew, the more helpless he felt in guiding her.  It seemed to him though that Patience would be pleased to have a professor calling on her daughter, and he let the matter go at that.