Dave Marshall looked from Lydia to Margery and back again. Margery was patting her curls. Lydia, holding the doll, returned his look indignantly. "I'm not going to tell my father to come to see you. I'll answer right now. We'll think and say what we please and you can do whatever you want to about that nasty old note." Dave suddenly laughed. "There, Elviry, that's what I mean about Lydia's being the real thing. You can't help my being your friend, Lydia, no matter what happens. But," grimly, "I'll call in that note unless your father shuts up." "Good-by!" exclaimed Lydia abruptly and she marched into the hall, head held high, and closed the outside door firmly behind her. It had been a long time since she had known the heavy sinking of the heart that she felt now. In spite of their desperate poverty, since her interview in the bank with Marshall four years before, she had not worried about money matters. She had an utter horror of repeating Marshall's message to her father. Money worry made Amos frantic. She plodded along the October road, unheeding the frosty sunshine or the scudding brown leaves that had charmed her on her earlier trip. In the midst of one of her longest sighs, Billy Norton overtook her. "Well, Lydia," he said, "isn't it chilly for your lady friend?" "Hello, Billy," said Lydia, looking up at the young man soberly. Billy was a sophomore in college. "I'll carry her, if your hands are cold, though I'd hate to be caught at it," he said. Lydia ignored his offer. "Billy, is there any way a girl like me could earn $600?" she asked him. "Golly, not that I know of! Why?" "Oh, I just asked. I wish I was a man." Billy looked at the scarlet cheeks and the blowing yellow curls. "I don't," he said. "What's worrying you, Lyd?" "Nothing," she insisted. Then, anxious to change the subject, she asked, "What're you studying to be, Billy?" "A farmer. Next year I shift into the long agric. course." "Goodness!" exclaimed Lydia, "I don't see what you want to study to be a farmer for. I should think you'd want to be something classy like a lawyer or--or something." "Lots of folks think the same way, but I believe a farmer's the most independent man in the world. And that's what I want to be, independent--call no man boss." "That's me too, Billy," cried Lydia, pausing at her gate. "That's what I want to be, independent. That's what real Americans are." "You're a funny little girl," said Billy. "What made you think of that?" "I often think about it," returned Lydia, running up the path to the door. Billy stood for a minute looking after her thoughtfully. Then he smiled to himself and went on homeward.