se, and for a time he stood off in the woods, throwing stones at
the house. The war was begun. And I expected to encounter the Aimes
forces on my way home, but saw nothing of them as I passed within sight
of the house. I hoped to see a look of sweet alarm on Guinea's face,
when I should tell her of the danger that threatened me, and there was
sweetness in her countenance, when I told her, though not a look of
alarm, but a smile of amusement. Was it that she felt no interest in me?
The other members of the family were much concerned, but that was no
recompense for the girl's apparent indifference. The old man snorted,
Mrs. Jucklin was so wrought upon that she strove to prepare me a
soothing dish at supper, but Guinea remained undisturbed. I could not
help but speak to Alf about it when we had gone up to our room. "Oh,
you never can tell anything about her," he said. "It's not because she
isn't scared, but because she hates to show a thing of that sort. I'm
mighty sorry it has come about. But there's only one way out--fight out
if they jump on you. I don't know how soon they intend to do anything,
but I'll nose around and come over to the school this evening if I hear
anything. Don't let it worry you; just put it down as a thing that
couldn't be helped."

It did not worry me--the fact that I might be on the verge of serious
trouble, did not; but the thought of Guinea's careless smile lay cold
upon my heart, and all night I was restless under it. And when I went
down stairs at dawn I met her in the passage way, carrying a light. She
looked up at me, shielding the light with her hand to keep the breeze
from blowing it out, and smiled, and in her smile there was no coolness,
and yet there was naught to show me that she had passed an anxious
night. Ah, love, we demand that you shall not only be happy, but
miserable at our wish. We would dim your eye when our own is blurred; we
would smother your heart when our own is heavy, and would pierce it with
a pain. Upon her children this old world has poured the wisdom of her
gathered ages, and could we look from another sphere we might see the
minds of great men twinkling like the stars, but the human heart is yet
unschooled, yet has no range of vision, but chokes and sobs in its own
emotion, as it did when the first poet stood upon a hill and cried
aloud to an unknown God.

Away across the valley and over the hills the peeping sun was a glaring
scollop when I came out to take my co