In June David returned to Millerstown with trunks and boxes to stay for the summer, at least. Upon his face a fresh record was written. He looked older, his lips were more firmly set. His last term had been easy; he had permitted himself holidays; he had visited New York, had seen great ships, had climbed great buildings, had learned, or thought that he had learned, that money can buy anything in the world. He had talked for defiance' sake with the pretty girl who had told him so sweetly long ago that the college town was glad of his presence. The pretty girl smiled upon him even more sweetly; it was clear to David's eyes that his blunder was nothing to her. He talked to other girls; it was equally clear that they were glad to forget any blunders of the past. He had not yet made up his mind what he would do with this great world which he could buy. Its evil was as plain to him as its good, but he meant to have all of it. It was as though David gathered together the pipe and cards flung into the tree-tops from the Sheep Stable. It was late in the afternoon when he arrived in Millerstown. Main Street lay quiet and golden in the sunshine. It was supper time and the Millerstonians were indoors. Few persons saw him come, and those few stood in too great awe of him to invite him to their houses. He met Katy Gaumer as he turned the corner sharply, and Katy gasped and looked at him somberly, standing still in a strange way to let him pass. She answered his greeting without lifting her head. Old habit made David grit his teeth. Upon her doorstep sat the little Improved New Mennonite, her supper finished. She was prettier than ever. By nature a manager, she had reduced Alvin's financial and other troubles to their simplest terms, and there was now hope of a happy issue from them. Alvin himself, though at peace, was not exactly happy. He had been held so diligently to his work, he had been compelled to dress so plainly that he was much depressed in spirit. Red neckties were now anathema; masculine adherents of the sect of the Improved New Mennonites, indeed, abjured neckties altogether, and Alvin feared that the black one to which he was reduced would presently also be taken from him. In her practical way Essie had long since decided that the rented house in the village could not be considered as an abode, but that the little house on the mountain-side must be returned to. To the side of the little Mennonite came David when he had opened the windows of his house. The place was desolate. The baffling sense of his mother's presence, even the consciousness of his father's, so long past, were intolerable. He would not endure this discomfort. He was young, ought to have happiness, would have it. Essie Hill was lovely to look at, she admired him, she was a woman; he would go and talk to Essie. He wished that he had brought her a present, but he could order one for her. If he stayed in Millerstown this summer Essie would be a pleasant diversion.