in the ice he had broken big
enough in a very few minutes.

"I think something has gone wrong between you and your friend, the young
gentleman with whom you are in intimate relations, my child, and I think
you had better talk freely with me, for I can perhaps give you a little
counsel that will be of service."

Susan cried herself quiet at last. "There's nobody in the world
like you, Mr. Gridley," she said, "and I've been wanting to tell you
something ever so long. My friend--Mr. Clem--Clement Lindsay does n't
care for me as he used to,--I know he does n't. He hasn't written to me
for--I don't know but it's a month. And O Mr. Gridley! he's such a great
man, and I am such a simple person,--I can't help thinking--he would be
happier with somebody else than poor little Susan Posey!"

This last touch of self-pity overcame her, as it is so apt to do those
who indulge in that delightful misery, and she broke up badly, as a
horse-fancier would say, so that it was some little time before she
recovered her conversational road-gait.

"O Mr. Gridley," she began again, at length, "if I only dared to tell
him what I think,--that perhaps it would be happier for us both--if we
could forget each other! Ought I not to tell him so? Don't you think he
would find another to make him happy? Wouldn't he forgive me for telling
him he was free? Were we not too young to know each other's hearts when
we promised each other that we would love as long as we lived? Sha'n't I
write him a letter this very day and tell him all? Do you think it would
be wrong in me to do it? O Mr. Gridley, it makes me almost crazy to
think about it. Clement must be free! I cannot, cannot hold him to a
promise he does n't want to keep."

There were so many questions in this eloquent rhapsody of Susan's that
they neutralized each other, as one might say, and Master Gridley had
time for reflection. His thoughts went on something in this way:

"Pretty clear case! Guess Mr. Clement can make up his mind to it. Put
it well, did n't she? Not a word about our little Gifted! That's the
trouble. Poets! how they do bewitch these schoolgirls! And having a
chance every day, too, how could you expect her to stand it?" Then
aloud: "Susan Posey, you are a good, honest little girl as ever was. I
think you and Clement were too hasty in coming together for life before
you knew what life meant. I think if you write Clement a letter, telling
him that you cannot help fearing that you t