This time there was no white figure on the church porch and no wistful voice to call after him. He kept on up the hill. He was not thinking about what Dennis Kavanagh might say to him. He had resolved to ask Clare manfully if she would continue to trust him for a while until both could be certain that their boy and girl love signified to them the love that life needed for its bounty and its blessing. That seemed the honest way. It seemed the only way, as matters lay between them and their families. Dennis Kavanagh was seated on his veranda, smoking his short pipe and inhaling the freshness of the shower-cooled summer air along with the aroma of his tobacco. "I would like to see your daughter, Mr. Kavanagh," announced the young man, boldly. "And I have not come sneaking by the back way. It will be a good while before I can see her again." "That it will," responded Mr. Kavanagh, dryly, "and it will be a good long while before ye'll see her now--that may be mixed, but I reckon ye'll get the drift of it!" "It will be better for all our interests if I have a few words with her," persisted the young man, trying to keep his temper. "Will ye talk to her through the air or over the telephone?" inquired the father, sarcastically. "She is not here, she is not near here, and if ye wait for her to come back ye'll best arrange to have your meals brought." He did not pause for Harlan to ask any more questions. He came down from the porch on his stubby legs and handed up an envelope. The flap of the envelope had been opened. "She left this," he said; "and having opened it and seen that it held nothing but what ye might profitably know, Thornton's grandson, I here give it into your hand, and ye needn't thank me." Harlan, wondering, apprehensive, fearing something untoward, took out the single sheet of paper. He read: "BIG BOY,--Go on and let the world make you a great man. I'm groping. Perhaps I'll see my way some day and can follow. But just as there's a cure for ignorance, so there's a cure for hearts, maybe. Your friend, CLARE." Harlan looked over the edge of the paper into the twinkling little eyes of the father. Mr. Kavanagh seemed to be getting much satisfaction from the expression on his victim's face. "Can't you tell me what this means, Mr. Kavanagh? I beg of you humbly, and in all sincerity." "The Kavanaghs are never backward in politeness, Mr. Harlan Thornton. It means that my girl is done playing child and riding cock-horse. She's off to learn to be the finest and knowingest lady in all the land--she's off because she wanted to go, and she's got all of Dennis Kavanagh's fat wallet behind her!" He slapped his breast-pocket. "Off where?" "Where they know things and teach things better than they do over in your Yankeeland of airs and frills. And now good-day to ye!" He climbed the porch steps, and relighted his pipe, gazing with much relish past the flame of the match, studying Harlan's dismay.