"I am so happy, Stanley, to see you getting better; but do not thank me; thank your Father in Heaven; he is the giver of life and health." "Another star in the night season," thought Roland. "If I can only do some good to poor Stanley, I shall be satisfied." Edmund kept his resolution--to be sure one evening he stayed rather longer than usual in Roland's room, as though having something to say. "Roland, I want some money," said the youth. Roland smiled. "For what, may I ask?" "Oh, never mind this time, Roland; I want it; it's mine, and that is enough." "But where is your promise, Edmund? You remember that you agreed to tell me what you meant to do with it." "There's a new arrival, Roland, an old friend of ours, and I want to give a treat." Roland smiled again. "I cannot consent, Edmund; it breaks the contract." "Well, I've made myself a little boy, indeed; can't have my own--I must have five dollars." "You can't to-night, Edmund; come to me to-morrow morning, and we will talk about it then; it was your own proposition, and you must abide by it; it has been a great benefit thus far; you have not missed a recitation for three weeks; I am not going to see all your good resolutions thrown to the winds." Edmund retired not very well pleased, but could not gainsay one word that Roland had uttered. Next morning, he came with a bright face. "You were right, Roland, and I wrong; you know how to manage me, I see that." The close of the year arrived--Roland occupied the highest place in the college, and Edmund passed a respectable examination, thanks to his faithful friend. "There has been partiality shown to 'Boots,'" said Robert Thornton; "I don't believe that he deserves all the honors." CHAPTER XIII. DRIFT-WOOD. Farewells are spoken--trunks are strapped--Roland's carpet-bag is well packed, filled by good Mrs. Jennings, for she has discovered that he returns on foot. Sleeping in barns, occasionally at farm-houses, at last he finds himself in sight of Woodcliff; he passes Maple Lane school on his way, and remembers the bright young face that used to smile upon him so kindly, and the reverent folding of her little hands, as Maddy listened to the teaching of her young mentor, so meek under his reproofs, so fiery and impetuous with all others. He wondered how it was now. On, on, past the cottage home, past the cemetery, he finds himself at the gate of Woodcliff. Walking up the familiar avenue, old Hector bounds to meet him, for he was a staunch friend of Roland Bruce. Effie hears the noise, and runs out to see what is the matter. A glance at the tall young man is sufficient. It is her own dear, dear brother! and in another minute, Effie is pressed to the warm heart of her only relative. Roland holds her off, and looks anxiously at his dear sister. Is she really paler, thinner; or is it the mourning-dress that makes her look so pallid? "Are you well, Effie?" asks the anxious brother.