wered quietly; "but if it had not been for that party, it is
likely I should not have gone to the academy, and most likely I should
not be escorting you home to-night."

"I do not quite understand you," said Liddy; and then, with an accent of
tenderness in her voice: "Tell me why, Charlie?"

"I am afraid you will laugh at me if I do," he said.

"No," she replied, "I will not; why should I?"

"Well," he continued, "to be candid, I was rather ashamed of myself that
evening, or at least ashamed of my clothes. Then you told me you were
going to the academy, and for that reason mainly I wanted to go, so you
see what resulted from my going to the party. I do not think father
intended to send me, and he would not if I had not coaxed him. My first
term there was not very pleasant for many reasons, and had I known all I
was to encounter I think my courage would have failed me. I am glad now
that it did not." He paused a moment and then continued in a lower tone:
"Whatever good it has done me is all due to you."

No more was said on the subject, and as they rode along in silence, each
was thinking of the curious web of emotions that was moulding their
lives and making definite objects grow from intangible impulses. He was
hardly conscious yet what a motive force in his plans Liddy was destined
to be; and she was filled with a new and sweet consciousness of a
woman's power to shape a man's plans in life. When her home was reached,
and after he had assisted her to alight, they stood for a moment by the
gate beneath the maples. No light was visible in the house; no sound of
any nature was heard. The sharp outlines of the buildings were softened
by the moonlight, and the bold formation of the Blue Hills, vague and
indistinct. The near-by brook, as of yore, sparkled like silver coin,
and the landscape was bathed in mellow light. As Liddy's face was turned
toward him, a ray of moonshine fell upon it, and her eyes seemed to fill
with a new tenderness. It was a time and place for loving thoughts and
words, and what these two young hearts felt called upon to utter may be
safely left to the reader's imagination.

When Manson drove away, he felt that the future was bright before him,
and that life held new and wonderfully sweet possibilities. If he built
a few air castles as he rode along in silence and alone, and if into
them crept a fair girl's face and tender blue eyes, it was but natural.
The magic sweetness of our first dreams of