ery patient and gentle with the
restless, ill-tempered boy--Mr. Roy even remarked that he thought David
would be happier at his work again; idling was a bad thing for young
fellows at his age, or any age.

At last it came out, the bitterness which rankled in the poor lad's
breast; with another secret, which, foolish woman that she was, Miss
Williams had never in the smallest degree suspected. Very odd that she
had not, but so it was. We all find it difficult to realize the moment
when our children cease to be children. Still more difficult is it for
very serious and earnest natures to recognize that there are other
natures who take things in a totally different way, and yet it may be the
right and natural way for them. Such is the fact; we must learn it, and
the sooner we learn it, the better.

One day, when the rain had a little abated, David appeared, greatly
disappointed to find the girls had gone out, down to the West Sands with
Mr. Roy.

"Always Mr. Roy! I am sick of his very name," muttered David, and then
caught Miss Williams by the dress as she was rising. She had a gentle
but rather dignified way with her of repressing bad manners in young
people, either by perfect silence, or by putting the door between her
and them. "Don't go! One never can get a quiet word with you, you are
always so preternaturally busy."

It was true. To be always busy was her only shield against--certain
things which the young man was never likely to know, and would not
understand if he did know.

"Do sit down, if you ever can sit down, for a minute," said he,
imploringly; "I want to speak to you seriously, very seriously."

She sat down, a little uneasy. The young fellow was such a good fellow;
and yet he might have got into a scrape of some sort. Debt, perhaps,
for he was a trifle extravagant; but then life had been all roses to
him. He had never known a want since he was born.

"Speak, then, David; I am listening. Nothing very wrong, I hope!" said
she, with a smile.

"Nothing at all wrong, only--When is Mr. Roy going away"?

The question was so unexpected that she felt her color changing a little;
not much, she was too old for that.

"Mr. Roy leaving St. Andrews, you mean? How can I tell? He has never
told me. Why do you ask?"

"Because until he gone, I stay," said the young man, doggedly. "I'm not
going back to Oxford leaving him master of the field. I have stood him
as long as I possibly can, and I'll