It was in the evening of a winter's day when Walter came homing back from New York. The other Goodwins were holding a family conference, and it was like Eleanor to kiss her father's bald head and pat his cheek with such a protecting, comforting air that her mother found a glimmer of fond amusement in the midst of her worry. The affectionate lass dwelt in a world of romance and her father was a true knight daily faring forth on a quest in which she was serenely confident that he would conquer all the dragons of misfortune. Walter had wisely concluded that the rash scheme of working his way to the Isthmus should be explained to the family with a good deal of care and tact. To break it to them suddenly would be too much like an explosion. When he tramped into the sitting-room, the welcome was as ardent as if he had been absent for months instead of days. Eleanor and her mother fluttered about him. Supper had been kept warm for him. Was he quite sure the melting snow had not wet his feet? His father asked, when the excitement had subsided: "Well, what luck, my son?" Assuming his best bass voice, as man to man, Walter answered: "New York is chuck-full of strong and willing lads anxious to run their legs off for four or five dollars a week. Without throwing any bouquets at myself, I think I ought to be worth more than that to somebody. You see, I couldn't pay for my board and washing, much less give the family income a boost." "Did my letters help you?" "Yes, I had an offer of four per from the hardware man. I told him I should have to think it over. Wolverton is as dead as a doornail, but I can do better than that as a day laborer." "I hate to think of your quitting school," sighed his father; "but perhaps you can graduate next year." He tried to hide his anxiety by adding quite briskly: "We have a great deal to be thankful for, and this--er--this period of business depression is only temporary, I am sure." "I seem to be so perfectly useless," pensively murmured Eleanor. "Poetry doesn't pay at all well, even if you are a genius, and then you are supposed to starve to death in a garret." Walter grinned and pulled her flaxen braid as a token of his high esteem. "You are mother's little bunch of sunshine," said he, "and as first assistant house-keeper you play an errorless game." With what was meant to be a careless manner, Walter turned to his father and exclaimed: "Oh, by the way, I heard of something that sounded pretty good. It isn't in New York----" "I certainly hope it is no farther away," broke in Mrs. Goodwin. "I can't bear to think of your leaving home at all." Walter coughed rather nervously and assured her: "Oh, I should take good care of myself and brush my teeth twice a day and say my prayers ditto, so you wouldn't have the slightest reason to worry about me. And I'd write home every week, sure." "But couldn't you come home every week?" asked Eleanor.