"I went there two years. Then I had to quit and come home to help mother." "Did you? That's why I'm out here on this infernal book business--to get money." She looked at him with interest now, noticing his fine eyes and waving brown hair. "It's dreadful, isn't it? But you've got a hope to go back. I haven't. At first I didn't think I could live; but I did." She ended with a sigh, a far-off expression in her eyes. There was a pause again. Bert felt that she was no ordinary girl, and she was quite as strongly drawn to him. "It almost killed me to give it up. I don't s'pose I'd know any of the scholars you know. Even the teachers are not the same. Oh, yes--Sarah Shaw; I think she's back for the normal course." "Oh, yes!" exclaimed Bert, "I know Sarah. We boarded on the same street; used t' go home together after class. An awful nice girl, too." "She's a worker. She teaches school. I can't do that, for mother needs me at home." There was another pause, broken by the little girl, who called: "Maud, mamma wants you." Maud rose and went out, with a tired smile on her face that emphasized her resemblance to her mother. Bert couldn't forget that smile, and he was still thinking about the girl, and what her life must be, when Hartley came in. "By jinks! It's _snifty_, as dad used to say. You can't draw a long breath through your nostrils; freeze y'r nose solid as a bottle," he announced, throwing off his coat with an air which seemed to make him an old resident of the room. "By the way, I've just found out why you was so anxious to get into this house, hey?" he said, slapping Bert's knee. "Another case o' girl." Bert blushed; he couldn't help it, notwithstanding his innocence in this case. Hartley went on. "Oh, I know you! A girl in the house; might 'a' known it," Hartley continued, in a hoarse whisper. "I didn't know it myself till about ten minutes ago," protested Bert. Hartley winked prodigiously. "Don't tell me! Is she pretty?" "No--that is, _you_ wouldn't call her so." "Oh, the deuce I wouldn't! Don't you _wish_ I wouldn't? I'd like to see the girl I wouldn't call pretty, right to her face, too." The girl returned at this moment with an armful of wood. "Let _me_ put it in," cried Hartley, springing up. "Excuse me. My name is Hartley, book agent: Blaine's 'Twenty Years,' plain cloth, sprinkled edges, three dollars; half calf, three fifty. This is my friend Mr. Lohr, of Marion; German extraction, soph at the university." The girl bowed and smiled, and pushed by him toward the door of the parlor. Hartley followed her in, and Bert could hear them rattling away at the stove. "Won't you sit down and play for us?" asked Hartley, after they returned to the sitting room, with the persuasive music of the book agent in his fine voice. "Oh, no! It's nearly dinner time, and I must help about the table." "Now make yourselves at home," said Mrs. Welsh, appearing at the door leading to the kitchen; "if you want anything, just let me know."