find one of
these streets."

Under the clerk's supervision Harold found the Yardwells, Thomas and
James, but Mary's name did not appear. He turned to conservatories and
located three or four, and having made out a slip of information set
forth. The first one he found to be situated up several flights of
stairs and was closed; so was the second. The third was in a brilliantly
lighted building which towered high above the street. On the eighth
floor in a small office a young girl with severe cast of countenance
(and hair parted on one side) looked up from her writing and coldly
inquired:

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Is there a girl named Mary Yardwell in your school?" he asked with some
effort, feeling a hot flush in his cheek--a sensation new to him.

"I don't think so, I'll look," replied the girl with business civility.
She thumbed a book to see and at length replied, "No, sir, there is
not."

"Much obliged."

"Not at all," replied the girl calmly, resuming her work.

Harold went down the steps to avoid the elevator. The next place was
oppressive with its grandeur. A tremendous wall, cold and dark (except
for a single row of lighted windows), loomed high overhead. In the
center of an arched opening in this wall a white hot globe flamed,
lighting into still more dazzling cleanliness a broad flight of marble
steps which led by a half turn to unknown regions above. Young people
were crowding into the elevator, girls in dainty costumes predominating.
They seemed wondrously flowerlike and birdlike to the plainsman, and
brought back his school days at the seminary, and the time when he was
at ease with young people like this. He had gone far from them
now--their happy faces made him sad.

He walked up the stairway, four flights, and came to a long hall, which
rustled and rippled and sparkled with flights of young girls--eager,
vivid, excited, and care-free. A few men moved about like dull-coated
robins surrounded by orioles and canary birds.

A bland old man with clean-shaven mouth seemed to be the proper source
of information, and to him Harold stepped with his question.

The old man smiled. "Miss Yardwell? Yes--she is one of our most valued
pupils. Certainly--Willy!" he called to a small boy who carried a
livery of startling newness, "go tell Miss Yardwell a gentleman would
like to see her."

"I suppose you are from her country home?" said the old gentleman, who
imagined a romance in this relatio