less and less
as they went on, till the college came into view, their hearts sinking
as it rose.

The campus was destitute of human sounds; but birds gossiped so openly
on every hand concerning the tardy intrusion that John was embarrassed,
and hardly felt, much less saw, what rich disorder the red and yellow
browns of clinging and falling leaves made among the purple-gray trunks
and olive-dappled boughs, and on the fading green of the sod.

The jays were everywhere, foppish, flippant, the perfection of
privileged rudeness.

It seemed a great way through the grove. At the foot of the steps John
would have liked to make the acquaintance of some fat hens that were
picking around in the weak sunshine and uttering now and then a pious
housewifely sigh.

There was an awful stillness as the two ascended the steps, carrying the
broken carpet-bag between them. Glancing back down the campus avenue,
John hoped the unknown woman just entering its far gate was not
observing. So mild was the air here that the front door stood open. In
the hall a tall student, with a sergeant's chevrons on his gray sleeve,
came from a class-room and led them into a small parlor. Major Garnet
was in Suez, but Mrs. Garnet would see them.

They waited. On the mantel an extremely Egyptian clock--green and
gilt--whispered at its task in servile oblivion to visitors. John stared
at a black-framed lithograph, and his father murmured,

"That's the poet Longfellow, son, who wrote that nice letteh to yo' dear
motheh. This colo'ed picture's Napoleon crossing the Alps."

A footstep came down the hall, and John saw a pretty damsel of twelve or
thirteen with much loose red-brown hair, stop near the door of the
reception-room and gaze at someone else who must have been coming up the
porch steps. He could not hear this person's slow advance, but presently
a voice in the porch said, tenderly, "Miss Barb?" and gave a low nervous
laugh.

Barbara shrank back a step. The soft footfall reached the threshold. The
maiden retreated half a step more. Behind her sounded a faint patter of
crinoline coming down the hall stairs. And then there came into view
from the porch, bending forward with caressing arms, a slim, lithe
negress of about nineteen years. Her flimsy dress was torn by thorns,
and her hands were pitifully scratched. Her skirt was gone, the
petticoat bemired, and her naked feet were bleeding.

"Miss Barb," said the tender voice again. From the inner sta