he eyes of Judge March ever since
he had been a father. Year after year had increased his patient
impatience for the day when his son should be old enough to know that
book's fame. Then what joy to see delight dance in his brave young eyes
upon that volume's emergence from some innocent concealment--a gift from
his father!

Thus far, John did not know his a-b-c's. But education is older than
alphabets, and for three years now he had been his father's constant,
almost confidential companion. Why might not such a book as this, even
now, be made a happy lure into the great realm of letters? Seeing the
book again to-day, reflecting that the price of cotton was likely to go
yet higher, and touched by the child's unexplained tears, Judge March
induced him to go from his side a moment with the store's one
clerk--into the lump-sugar section--and bought the volume.

II.

TO A GOOD BOY

In due time the Judge and his son started home.

The sun's rays, though still hot, slanted much as the two rose into oak
woodlands to the right of the pike and beyond it. Here the air was cool
and light. As they ascended higher, and oaks gave place to chestnut and
mountain-birch, wide views opened around and far beneath. In the south
spread the green fields and red fallows of Clearwater, bathed in the
sheen of the lingering sun. Miles away two white points were the spires
of Suez.

The Judge drew rein and gazed on five battle-fields at once. "Ah, son,
the kingdom of romance is at hand. It's always at hand when it's within
us. I'll be glad when you can understand that, son."

His eyes came round at last to the most western quarter of the landscape
and rested on one part where only a spray had dashed when war's fiery
deluge rolled down this valley. "Son, if there wa'n't such a sort o'
mist o' sunshine between, I could show you Rosemont College over yondeh.
You'll be goin' there in a few years now. That'll be fine, won't it,
son?"

A small forehead smote his back vigorously, not for yea, but for
slumber.

"Drowsy, son?" asked the Judge, adding a backward caress as he moved on
again. "I didn't talk to you enough, did I? But I was thinkin' about
you, right along." After a silence he stopped again.

"Awake now, son?" He reached back and touched the solid little head.
"See this streak o' black land where the rain's run down the road? Well,
that means silveh, an' it's ow lan'."

They started once more. "It may not mean much, but we