losing him, and some wonder about another matter, "I'm glad
for your sake, though you may imagine how I'll miss you. But how can
you go yet? 'Tis like leaving the field to me--as to _her_, you know."
I motioned with my head toward the Faringfield house.

"Why," he replied, as we both sat down on the wooden bench, "as I
shall be gone years when I do go, Mr. Faringfield stipulated only that
I should remain with him here another year; and I was mighty glad he
did, or I should have had to make that offer. 'Twasn't that I was
anxious to be off so soon, that made me tell him I was going; 'twas
that in harbouring the intention, while he still relied upon my
remaining always with him, I seemed to be guilty of a kind of
treachery. As for--_her_, if she gives no indication within a year,
especially when she knows I'm going, why, 'twill be high time to leave
the field to you, I think."

"She doesn't know yet?"

"No; I came first to you. Her father isn't home yet."

"Well, Phil, there's little for me to say. You know what my feelings
are. After all, we are to have you for a year, and then--well, I hope
you may become the greatest architect that ever lived!"

"Why, now, 'tis strange; you remind me of my reason for going. Since
Mr. Faringfield gave me his sanction, I hadn't thought of that. I'm
afraid I've been something of a hypocrite. And yet I certainly thought
my desire to go was chiefly on account of my architectural studies;
and I certainly intend to pursue them, too. I must have deceived
myself a little, though, by dwelling on that reason as one that would
prevail with Mr. Faringfield; one that he could understand, and could
not fairly oppose. For, hearkee, all the way home, when I looked
forward to the future, the architectural part of it was not in my
head. I was thinking of the famous historic places I should see; the
places where great men have lived; the birthplace and grave of
Shakespeare; the palaces where great pageants and tragedies have been
enacted; the scenes of great battles; the abbey where so many poets
and kings and queens are buried; the Tower where such memorable dramas
have occurred; the castles that have stood since the days of chivalry;
and Oxford; and the green fields of England that poets have written
of, and the churchyard of Gray's Elegy; and all that kind of thing."

[Illustration: "OUR MOTIONS, AS WE TOUCHED OUR LIPS WITH THEM, WERE SO
IN UNISON THAT MARGARET LAUGHED."]

"Ay, and something of