nd of him, wasn't
it? I'm very grateful to him. He must be a good fellow."

"What has he done so wonderful? Oh, my!"--and she turned her face up to
his with half-laughing deprecation--"I'm afraid I'm deteriorating too. I
can't hear you praise any one now without feeling horribly jealous. Yes,
he must be good. But don't be _too_ grateful to him, or--I must be going
now, and, oh! what a long time it'll be until to-morrow! I shall have
grown old before--to-morrow."

"Sweetheart! You'll come here and wait for me in the afternoon, won't
you? I shall want to see you so much."

"Yes, if you like; but I intended to go up to the University--mayn't I?
It'll seem ages--aeons--waiting here by myself."

"The meeting will not last long, and I'll come to you as soon as it's
over. Darling, you don't know how much you have helped me. You have
given me courage and hope," and he folded her in his arms.

Mr. Gulmore liked to spend his evenings with his wife and daughter. It
amused him to hear what they had been doing during the day. Their gossip
had its value; sentimental or spiteful, it threw quaint sidelights upon
character. On the evening before the Faculty meeting Ida was bending
over a book, while Mr. Gulmore smoked, and watched her. His daughter was
somewhat of a puzzle to him still, and when occasion offered he studied
her. "Where does she get her bitterness from? I'm not bitter, an' I had
difficulties, was poor an' ignorant, had to succeed or go under, while
she has had everythin' she wanted. It's a pity she ain't kinder...."

Presently Mrs. Gulmore put away her work and left the room. Taking up
the thread of a conversation that had been broken off by his wife's
presence, Mr. Gulmore began:

"I don't say Roberts'll win, Ida. The bettin' 's the other way; but I'm
not sure, for I don't know the crowd. He may come out on top, though I
hev noticed that young men who run into their first fight and get badly
whipped ain't likely to fight desperate the second time.--Grit's half
trainin'!"

"I wish I could be there to _see_ him beaten!" Ida had tried to turn her
wounded pride into dislike, and was succeeding. "I hate to feel he's in
the same town with us--the coward!"

At this moment Mrs. Gulmore reentered the room.

"To think of it! Sal left the gas-stove flarin'. I made her get up and
come downstairs to put it out. That'll learn her! Of all the careless,
shiftless creatures, these coloured people are the worst. Come, Ida,
it'