"But, Billy Little," replied Dic, who was sitting with Rita on the sycamore divan, while their small elderly friend sat upon the grass facing them, "you certainly have seen the world. Your eyes were opened before you came here, and it seems to me your learning and culture are buried here among the possibilities you speak of." "No, Dic," answered Billy, "you see, I--well, I ran away from--from many things. You see, you and I are cast in different moulds. You are six feet tall, physically and temperamentally." Rita thought Billy was the most acute observer in Christendom, but she did not speak, save with her eyes. Those eyes nowadays were always talking. "Six feet don't amount to much," responded Dic. "There is Doug Hill, who is six feet three, with no more brains than a catfish. It is what's at the top of the six feet that counts. You have more at the top of your five feet four than the tallest man on Blue, and as I said, you seem to be buried here. Where are the possibilities for you, Billy Little? And if you can't achieve something great--poor me!" "There are different possibilities for different men. I think, for example, I have achieved something in you. What say you, Rita?" The girl was taken unawares. "Indeed you have, glorious--splendid--that is, I mean you have achieved something great in all of us whom you have tried to influence. I see your possibilities, Billy Little. I see them stamped upon the entire Blue River settlement. La Salle and Marquette, of whom Dic read to me from your book, had the same sort of opportunities. Their field was broader, but I doubt if their influence will be more lasting than yours." "Rather more conspicuous," laughed Billy. "Yes," answered Rita, "your achievements will not be recorded. Their effect will probably be felt by all of us, and the achievement must be your only reward." "It is all I ask," returned Billy. Then, after a pause, he spoke in mock reproof to Dic, "Now, hang your head in shame." "I suppose it's my turn," Dic replied. "The achievements of picturesque men only should be placarded to the world," said Billy. "The less said about a little old knot like me the better for--better for the knot." "You are not a knot," cried Rita indignantly. "Rita," said Dic, "you know the walnut knot, while it shows the roughest bark, has the finest grain in the tree." "I am going home if you don't stop that sort of talking," said Billy, pleased to his toes, but pretending to be annoyed. A fortnight before Dic's intended departure for New York an opportunity presented itself of which the young man, after due consideration, determined to take advantage. He walked over one evening to see Tom, but, as usual, found Rita. After a few minutes in which to work his courage up, he said:-- "There is to be a church social at Scott's to-morrow night--the Baptists. I wonder if you would like--that is, would want to--would be willing to go with me?"