e
her."

Mrs. Osgood listened quietly until the door had shut and the sound of
his steps had died away. "So he expected me to act like a school-girl,"
she said, half aloud. "Some women are fools, I suppose. I am glad he did
not bluster any more. I hate a man who loses his temper. So, Mr. Duncan,
you want to leave me. You have my permission; but you will soon be back,
and then perhaps you will hear me tell you that I--no you won't, for I
want to keep your handsome, curly head all for myself."

CHAPTER III.

TWO WOMEN.

We have all seen a manly young fellow go up to college. Full of life and
vigor, he sees the world before him; but the thought of all its battles
rouses no fear in his young heart, and, though his pranks are boyish and
his manners rough, he stumbles good humoredly and persistently on into
success. His upper classmen patronizingly smile upon him, while his
natural enemy, the Soph, taunts and teases him, but is sometimes brought
down and punished by his strong, young arms. Youthful, growing Chicago
reminds one of this college boy. She has left the school of preparation
and has taken her place among the great cities of the earth, where, full
of energy and life, she is fighting her way to the front. Her mature
colleagues of the Old World smile patronizingly at her efforts, but
doubt her powers; while the cities of the East, seeing in her a young
rival, taunt and ridicule her with jealous anger. She is young; but
strong and active; and if she is sometimes carried away by the very
energy of her youth, she is never daunted, and the older cities of the
East have already felt the vigor of her sinewy grasp. Chicago, with her
broad avenues and stupendous buildings, her spacious parks and stately
homes, her far-reaching railways and towering chimneys, her bustling
marts and busy, surging crowds of active men and women, is the archetype
of American energy,--the creation of yesterday and the marvel of to-day.
But the mortar is scarcely dry and the stones are still undimmed by
time. She is as the mason, the carpenter, and the builder have left
her--crude and fresh, without the dignified stains of age, without the
majestic polish which time alone can give. Her social structure, like
her brick and mortar buildings, is solidly laid and firmly built, but
new. Her people built Chicago and she is the best memorial of their
energy. They are still young and vigorous; in them the ardor of the
pioneer is scarcely dead;