rom
its hinges by the maple tree. He rushes up the steps and through the
hall, and into the library, where the first citizen and his seneschal are
sitting.

"Hello, Father, you see I didn't waste any time," he cried; grasping his
father's hand in a grip that made Mr. Worthington wince. "Well, you are a
trump, after all. We're both a little hot-headed, I guess, and do things
we're sorry for,--but that's all over now, isn't it? I'm sorry. I might
have known you'd come round when you found out for yourself what kind of
a girl Cynthia was. Did you ever see anybody like her?"

Mr. Flint turned his back, and started to walk out of the room.

"Don't go, Flint, old boy," Bob called out, seizing Mr. Flint's hand,
too. "I can't stay but a minute, now. How are you?"

"All right, Bob," answered Mr. Flint, with a curious, kindly look in his
eyes that was not often there. "I'm glad to see you home. I have to go to
the bank."

"Well, Father," said Bob, "school must be out, and I imagine you know
where I'm going. I just thought I'd stop in to--to thank you, and get a
benediction."

"I am very happy to have you back, Robert," replied Mr. Worthington, and
it was true. It would have been strange indeed if some tremor of
sentiment had not been in his voice and some gleam of pride in his eye as
he looked upon his son.

"So you saw her, and couldn't resist her," said Bob. "Wasn't that how it
happened?"

Mr. Worthington sat down again at the desk, and his hand began to stray
among the papers. He was thinking of Mr. Flint's exit.

"I do not arrive at my decisions quite in that way, Robert," he answered.

"But you have seen her?"

"Yes, I have seen her."

There was a hesitation, an uneasiness in his father's tone for which Bob
could not account, and which he attributed to emotion. He did not guess
that this hour of supreme joy could hold for Isaac Worthington another
sensation.

"Isn't she the finest girl in the world?" he demanded. "How does she
seem? How does she look?"

"She looks extremely well," said Mr. Worthington, who had now schooled
his voice. "In fact, I am quite ready to admit that Cynthia Wetherell
possesses the qualifications necessary for your wife. If she had not, I
should never have written you."

Bob walked to the window.

"Father;" he said, speaking with a little difficulty, "I can't tell you
how much I appreciate your--your coming round. I wanted to do the right
thing, but I just couldn't give up such a