n half wished himself in college. He went
back to his books; he joined a debating-society. There was no need of
being a mere clod because he had to work. David Lawrence was a
gentleman. And the next spring he took up a little botany and
horticulture with his gardening. Old Mr. Rising down the street, who had
been gardener to some great lord,--a peculiar, obstinate Englishman,
with his head crammed full of odd bits of knowledge,--took a fancy to
Jack. They discussed not only fruit and flowers, but trade in its
various aspects, as Mr. Rising had relatives at Manchester who had
soared to the ambitions of mills and factories.

Time sped on, and they came to the second summer. Miss Gertrude Lawrence
was a belle now, and the great house was constantly filled with guests.
The Lawrence equipages were seen in every direction. Mrs. Minor was up
frequently, in grand state. The lawn was gay with croquet-parties, the
evenings were brilliant with lights and music: they had two elegant
garden-parties, when the grounds were illuminated with colored lanterns,
and the teas were festivals in themselves. Fred had brought home two
college chums, and for the first fortnight was deeply engrossed. Then,
too, the girls no longer nagged at him. He was developing into an
elegant young man, with due regard for the proprieties.

He did go to call on Jack one evening. It was a duty, a rather awkward
and embarrassing one, and he took to himself great credit in the point
of moral courage. He understood thoroughly now what Agatha had striven
so sedulously to explain, the difference in social station. He was not
likely in the future to make a blunder on that side, but it would not do
to turn the cold shoulder to Jack all at once. "A boy's will's the
wind's will," he repeated with much complacency, and it was but natural
that it should veer in other directions. Jack was a good enough fellow,
but no Sir Galahad or Sir any one now.

He was a little shocked at Mrs. Darcy in her mourning dress and widow's
cap. She was pale, and with the extreme delicacy so often pronounced
characteristic of American women. Grandmother sat in state and dignity,
rather resentful of what she termed in her secret heart Fred's neglect,
but a thing she would not have confessed openly if she had been put to
torture. And Jack?

Frederic De Woolfe Lawrence studied him with a critical eye. A great,
lumbering, inelegant fellow! Jack seemed to have grown out in every
direction, with