of it in the least, and he
extricated his hands from the gentle clasp with some abruptness.

From the safe distance of the door he looked back, and wondered why
Fifi's great eyes were fixed so solemnly on him.

"Well--good-bye, again. Hurry up and get well--"

"Good-bye--oh, good-bye," said Fifi, and turned her head toward the open
window with the blue skies beyond.

Did Fifi know? How many have vainly tortured themselves with that
question, as they have watched dear ones slipping without a word down
the slopes to the dark Valley! If this child knew that her name had been
read out for the greater Graduation, she gave no sign. Sometimes in the
mornings she cried a little, without knowing why. Sometimes she said a
vague, sad little thing that brought her mother's heart, stone cold, to
her mouth. But her talk was mostly very bright and hopeful. Ten minutes
before Queed came in she had been telling Mrs. Paynter about something
she would do in the fall. If sometimes you would swear that she knew
there would never be another fall for her, her very next remark might
confound you. So her little face turned easily to the great river with
the shining farther shore, and, for her part, there would be no sadness
of farewell when she embarked.

By marvelous work, Queed closed up the twenty-five minutes of time he
had bestowed upon Fifi, and pulled into supper only three minutes behind
running-time. After-wards, he sat in the Scriptorium, his face like a
carven image, the sacred Schedule in his hands. For it had come down to
that. Either he must at any cost hew his way back to the fastness of his
early days, or he must corrupt the Schedule yet again.

Every minute that he took away from his book meant just that much delay
in giving the great work to the world. That fact was the eternal
backbone of all his consciousness. On the other balance of his personal
equation, there was Buck Klinker and there was Fifi Paynter.

Klinker evidently felt that all bars were down as to him. It would be a
hard world indeed if a trainer was denied free access to his only pupil,
and Klinker, though he had but the one, was always in as full blast as
Muldoon's. He had acquired a habit of "dropping in" at all hours,
especially late at night, which, to say the least, was highly wasteful
of time. It was Queed's privilege to tell Klinker that he must keep away
from the Scriptorium; but in that case Klinker might fairly retort that
he would no longer gi