She would hardly have known Archie. He stood up straight and he was quite as tall as Ned. He had filled out somewhat, though he was still rather thin, but his face had lost that deprecating expression, and had a clear notion not only of truth and honor, but of his own power as well. It was a tender face also, with the light in it that draws one unconsciously. The eyes seemed to have grown darker, but the hair was light as in boyhood. "I am so glad to see you again;" and he took both hands in a warm clasp. "I couldn't wait until some accidental meeting, where you might kindly invite me for old friendship's sake." "That would not have been worth while. I have heard about you, and I wondered if you had outgrown childish remembrances." "You would bring them all back if I had. How little you have changed, except to grow tall. And now tell me about yours and mine. Once in a great while Ned writes, and mother doesn't seem to have the gift of chatty letters. Hers are mostly about my humble self, _her_ son rather, and how he must avoid certain things and do other certain things, and not grow hard-hearted and irreligious and careless of his health;" smiling with a touch of tenderness. "So, you see, I do not hear much about the real Pittsburg." "Oh, you would hardly know it now, there are so many changes, and so much business. New streets, instead of the old lanes, and the old log houses are fast disappearing. We are making real glass, you know, and there is talk of a paper mill. And nearly all the girls are married; the older ones, I mean. Families are coming in from the country, others go out to Ohio and Kentucky. Why, it is a whirl all the time." "I'd like to see it and mother. I've planned to go several times, but some study or lectures that I couldn't miss would crop up. And it takes so much time. Why doesn't some one invent a quicker way of travelling? Now, if we could fly." "Oh, that would be just splendid!" eagerly. "I used to watch the birds when I was a boy, and flying seemed so easy for them. Now, why can't some one think up a pair of wings that you could slip on like a jacket and work them with some sort of springs, and go sailing off? I'm learning to put people together, but I never was any hand for machinery." "Oh, think of it! A winged jacket;" and they both laughed gleefully. Then M. de Ronville entered and expressed his pleasure at meeting the young man, who was already distinguishing himself, and who was an old friend of Miss Carrick. "Not that either of you are very old," he commented smilingly. Mr. Bartram he recalled. And certainly the generally quiet student talked his best. Was Daffodil a sort of inspiration? Was that one of the graces of early friendship?