"You needn't laugh, Lucian. Of course it's easy enough to write; that isn't the trouble; but it's getting things together." "What things?" "My ideas. Oh, if I were only Priscilla." "Well, you are not; she's altogether different. But what's this?" cried Lucian, picking up a paper from the table. "Oh, that's one of Priscilla's last year's essays. It's perfectly splendid, and she thought it might help me to look it over." "Why don't you get her to help you in some other way?" "Oh, that wouldn't do. We're supposed to do this all alone. It's a kind of test. You see the little themes are different. We write accounts of things we see, or that somebody tells us; but Miss Crawdon likes things we observe, and I am always seeing something funny. Everyone laughs at what I write. But I just can't do a long logical essay, and I don't want mine to be the very worst in the class." "Of course not." Lucian's tone was more sympathetic than usual. "There can't be any harm in my helping you." And he took up a pencil. "I'm not sure," responded Martine; "but still a brother, I suppose, is different from anyone else." "Naturally," said Lucian, undisturbed by any scruples. In a moment the two were at work, or rather Lucian was working, while Martine listened intently. "First of all," he began, in a professorial manner, "you must think out your subject carefully and sub-divide it--so--and so. Then, well, whenever you have a thought, write it down on a piece of paper or a card--if I were you I'd buy a box of blank cards." Martine instantly resolved to pay a visit to a wholesale stationer's, and Lucian spent a few moments in cogitation and then wrote down a number of headings on small squares of paper. He had never before had so good a chance to expose the methods of his favorite English course. "See, now, you kind of shuffle and arrange your headings, and you begin to think of other funny little things to put in, and write them out on large sheets, and before you know it, it's almost done. Now try." Martine tried. Lucian's method was something like a game, and under his guidance she made a fair beginning. Before they had fairly started on the essay, Lucian talked learnedly about "clearness," and "force," and "elegance," and Martine listened, somewhat dazzled by her brother's show of knowledge. "Well, Harvard has done you some good, after all, Lucian. As a sophomore you seem to be making up for what you lost in your freshman year." "There, there, child, no twitting on facts. Of course Harvard has done a great deal for me. Why else should I go to college?" "I wonder what college would do for me. What would you think of my going to Radcliffe, for example?" Martine looked anxiously at her brother; she had known boys who positively opposed their sister's ambitions in this direction. "Well, if you could get in," said Lucian, "I think it would be a mighty good thing." The "if" nettled Martine. "What other girls do I suppose I could do too."