Elizabeth had not lived very long in this neighborhood, for this was early spring and it had been only at Christmas time that she and her father and Irish Anna, who kept house for them, had come to Harwood to settle down in what had been Mr. Houghton’s old home. Even here, after many other moves, the question of uprooting soon came up again, for in March her father had been summoned to England to spend six months. “I wish it were not going to be so lonely for you, Betsey,” he had said as he made preparations to go, “but at least you will be busy. I am glad that we have found such a good school for you at last. A few more changes, and your education would have been wrecked entirely.” Betsey had always meant to go to college and was now in the last half-year of her preparation. Transfers from one school to another had indeed resulted in so much lost time that she was already a little behind her proper class and would, so she agreed with her father, lose all chances of fulfilling her plans should she change again. She sighed deeply as she thought of it, sitting there upon the stone, for it was this very question that was casting shadows over a very brilliant prospect. Very soon after Mr. Houghton’s departure, Betsey’s Aunt Susan, growing weary of the life of her quiet country place, big and luxurious though it was, had pressed upon her niece a dazzling invitation. It was to accompany her on a journey that would include Bermuda, Panama, California, and, when hot weather came, the Canadian Rockies. It became difficult for Elizabeth even to think of more months of plodding study, when, sitting at her desk, she could picture the flowers and palms of Bermuda, its coral caves with floors of rippling water, or the lazy breakers tumbling in on some California beach. But to go would mean giving up college, that was certain. And Elizabeth’s mother, who had died five years before, had always wanted her to go to college! So long did she sit there on the stone under the big oak tree, hesitating and debating, that presently there was a rumble of thunder, followed by the sharp spatter of rain on the little new leaves above her head. The low-hanging branches sheltered her like a roof so that she had only to sit there with her hands clasped about her knee, waiting for the shower to pass and for her puzzled thoughts to set themselves in order. She was wishing greatly for her father’s advice, but that it would be impossible to get in time. Anna, good-natured and interested as she was, could offer little more than, “Sure it would be grand to go to college and learn so much,” or, if the talk happened to turn in another direction, “Sure it would be grand to go to California and see all the pretty flowers,” so that her opinions were of no very great help.