rything. Have you ever thought what sort I would have been had Lonely
Farm been my only training?" she smiled faintly, and her girlish face, in
the setting of the faded hat and soiled veil, struck Farwell again by its
change, which now seemed to have settled into permanency. Of course it
was only the ridiculous fashion of the world he once knew, but he could
not free himself of the fancy that Priscilla was more her real self in
the shabby trappings than she had ever been in the absurd costumes of the
In-Place.

With the acceptance of the fact that the girl really meant to get away
and at once, a wave of dreariness swept over him. He thought of the time
on ahead when his last vital interest would be taken from him. Then he
aroused from his stupor and brought his mind to bear upon the inevitable;
the here and now.

"It's a big drop in your ambition, Priscilla," he said; "you used to
think you could dance your way to your throne."

"There is no throne now, Master Farwell. I'm just thinking all the time
of My Road."

"But there's the Heart's Desire at the end, you know."

"Yes; but I do not think I would want it to be a throne."

"What then?"

"Oh! love--my own life--the giving and giving just where I long to give.
It's splendid to tramp along your road, if it _is_ your road, and be
jolly and friendly with those you care for. It will all be so different
from Kenmore, where one has to take what one must."

"I wonder how Jerry-Jo will feel about all this?"

"Jerry-Jo! And what right has he to think at all--about me?"

The girl's eyes flashed with mischief and daring.

"Jerry-Jo!" she laughed with amusement. "Just big, Indian-boy Jerry-Jo!
We've played together and quarrelled together, but you're all wrong,
Master Farwell, if you think he cares about me! He knows better than
that--far, far, better."

But even as she spoke the light and fun left her eyes. She looked older,
more thoughtful.

"Isn't it queer?" she said after a pause.

"What, Priscilla?"

"Oh, life and people and the things that go to their making? You're quite
wrong about Jerry-Jo. I'm sure you're wrong."

Then suddenly she sprang up.

"I must go," she said abruptly; "go and exchange these rags for my own
plain things. I only wanted to surprise you, sir; and how deadly serious
we have grown."

She passed out of the cottage without a word more. Farwell watched her
across the Green and up to the Lodge. He was disturbed and restless. The
old