Jewel Weed

"Will you let me come to see your mother some time?"

Lena's heart beat fast with mingled fear and hope, but all Dick saw was

a startled and sweet surprise.

"I should be almost ashamed to have you come," she said with a soft

blush and a look of shy invitation. "We are so poor and we live in such

a shabby place."

"If your shabbiness comes because of your father's sacrifice for his

country it is something to be proud of," Dick answered.

Through Lena's mind there passed a swift memory of quarrels and

bickerings, of daily smallnesses, which were her chief recollection of

her father. She looked frankly up into Dick's face.

"Yes," she said. "That ought to make it easy to bear. Now I must not

talk about myself any more. What did you tell me about that funny old

book?"

"And I may come to see you and your mother?" Dick persisted.

"If you do not forget us to-morrow,"--Lena glanced at him out of the

corner of her eyes in a way calculated to make him remember.

"I shan't forget," said Dick.

He took out a small note-book and wrote down the address she gave him.

And she gave herself a little shake and pulled out a much larger

note-book. "I ought not to waste my time and yours this way, but, you

see, I'm not much of a business woman. I sometimes forget altogether."

Dick thought her very preposterous and charming as she set to work with

an air of severity; and so she was--the last thing on earth made to do

serious work. They leaned together over one treasure after another, in

that electric nearness that moves youth so easily, and sends a tingling

sensation up the backbone.

When she suddenly rose, her cheeks were pinker and more transparent than

ever, and her eyes softer and dreamier.

"Let me take you home in the motor," said Dick.

"Dear me, no," Lena exclaimed. "I'm afraid you think me entirely too

informal already. I--I'm so stupid and impulsive. I'm always doing wrong

things and not thinking till afterward. Good-by, and thank you, Mr.

Percival."

After he had bowed her out, Dick plunged into a big chair and spent a

few moments in analyzing his own character. He perceived that in some

ways he differed from most of his friends. Now Ellery and Madeline and

most of the others lived along certain conventional lines, with certain

fixed interests and habits. That kind of existence would be intolerable

to him. He liked to star his days with all kinds of colored incidents

that had no particular relation to his main work. He liked to run down

every by-path, explore it a bit, and then come back to the highway.

Those small excursions were apt to take a man into leafy dells where

there were ferns and flowers too shy to fringe the dusty plodding

thoroughfare. Dick liked that figure. It revealed to him a certain

lightness of heart and poetry in himself that distinguished him from the

prosy grubbers. This sprinkling of life with episodes was like a little

tonic. It kept him vivid and alive.