erybody."

"Julia, _you_ wouldn't----"

She laughed lightly. "Of course I should, and so would papa."

Noble released the gatepost and appeared to slant backward. "What?"

"Papa was talking about you this very morning at breakfast," she said;
and she spoke the truth. "He said he _dreamed_ about you last night."

"He did?"

Julia nodded sunnily. "He dreamed that you and he were the very greatest
friends!" This also was true, so far as it went; she only omitted to
state that Mr. Atwater had gone on to classify his dream as a nightmare.
"There!" she cried. "Why, of course he'd miss you--he'd miss you as much
as he'd miss any friend of mine that comes here."

Noble felt a sudden rush of tenderness toward Mr. Atwater; it is always
possible to misjudge a man for a few hasty words. And Julia went on
quickly:

"I never saw anybody like you, Noble Dill!" she exclaimed. "I don't
suppose there's anybody in the United States except you that would be
capable of doing things like going off to be an officer in the Chinese
army--all just any minute like this. I've always declared you were about
the most reckless man I know!"

Noble shook his head. "No," he said judicially. "I'm not reckless; it's
just that I don't care what happens."

Julia became grave. "Don't you?"

"To me," he said hurriedly. "I mean I don't care what happens to myself.
I mean that's more the way I am than just reckless."

She was content to let his analysis stand, though she shook her head, as
if knowing herself to be wiser than he about his recklessness. A
cheerfulness came upon them; and the Chinese question seemed to have
been settled by these indirect processes;--in fact, neither of them ever
mentioned it again. "I mustn't keep you," she said, "especially when you
ought to be getting on downtown to business, but----Oh!" She gave the
little cry of a forgetful person reminded. "I almost forgot what I ran
out to ask you!"

"What was it, Julia?" Noble spoke huskily, in a low voice. "What is it
you want me to do, Julia?"

She gave a little fluttering laugh, half timid, half confiding. "You
know how funny papa is about tobacco smoke?" (But she hurried on without
waiting for an answer.) "Well, he is. He's the funniest old thing; he
doesn't like _any_ kind very much except his own special cheroot things.
He growls about every other kind, but the cigars Mr. _Ridgely_ smokes
when he comes here, papa really _does_ make a fuss over! And, you see, I
don't