“But Ellen here, she took to it all like a duck to water, an’ the college chap kep’ insistin’ that she ought to go to a good school, an’ that she showed ‘great natural aptitude’--them wuz his words--an’ that she might be famous some day, till at last I got regularly enthusiastic about wimmen’s eddication, an’ I jest determined not to waste any more time, an’ so I sent her to Miss Bellairs’s at Denver. She wuz all I hed, an’ Lord knows I hedn’t no particular reason to feel confidence in wimmen folks”--a sudden, curious, hard expression came into his face for a moment and then died swiftly away as he turned from Miss Arnold and looked at the girl beside him. “But I sent her, an’ she ain’t never been back to the camp, an’ she’s been all I ever hoped she’d be.” They had passed from the faintly lighted library into the brilliant corridors, and the man, towering in rugged strength above the two girls, cast curious glances about him as they walked slowly along. Everything seemed to interest him, and when they came to the Greek recitation-rooms he insisted, with boyish eagerness, upon going in, and the big photogravures of the Acropolis and the charts of the Ægean Sea, and even a passage from the “Seven against Thebes” (copied upon the walls doubtless by some unlucky Sophomore), and which was so hopelessly unintelligible to him, seemed to fascinate him. And when they came to the physical laboratories he took a wonderful, and, as it seemed to Miss Arnold, an almost pathetic interest in the spectroscopes and Ruhmkorff coils, and the batteries only half-discernable in the faintly flaring lights.