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teach Tom a lot about orange-growing right here, and then he can go off if he wants and have a grove of his own and grow blossoms for his bride."

      He laughed at his joke, but added seriously, "Why don't you keep him at home?"

      "Ask Ellen," was all Hertha could answer.

      As she went home that night Merryvale met her in the grove, and again held her in conversation about her brother until Tom himself came upon them.

      "I'm trying to get your sister to persuade you to stay at home," said Merryvale, addressing the boy but looking at the girl. "You know you don't want to go. Why do you let a woman boss you?"

      "Perhaps," said Tom cannily, "ef I let her do a big bit o' bossing now, I'll be rid of it fer good by-and-by."

      "You mean you'll be your own boss when you get away? Don't you think it! They'll boss you every hour of the twenty-four at school. Better stay here and work for me."

      "I like you, boss, all right," the boy answered soberly. Then, turning to walk away, he called, "Coming, Sister?" and Hertha went with him.

      "Sister, rot!" said Merryvale impatiently, looking after them. "They adopted that girl. She never came out of that nest."

      That evening, seated at the table about the large lamp, Ellen went over, not for the first time, Tom's school course, and explained from the catalogue the studies he was to pursue. His mother was all interest, examining the pictures depicting the boys at their various tasks. Hertha sewed at the flannel shirt that was a farewell gift and occasionally put in a word. Tom was profoundly silent. Except when questioned he refused to make any contribution to their discussion. "One 'ud think," his mother said at last, "as it was Ellen goin' ter school, not you."

      "Why don't she?" was his sole answer.

      Ellen looking into his sullen face was both indignant and troubled. Many colored boys, she knew, had walked hundreds of miles to secure entrance at this institution and, once admitted, had accepted privations without a murmur, intent only on gaining the power that comes through knowledge. Tom was to travel in comparative comfort, he would have money for his actual needs, and yet he did not wish to avail himself of this unique opportunity. It was not as though he were a stupid boy; he had done well for every one for whom he had worked. Evidently he simply did not wish to leave home.

      The older sister rose and closed the catalogue. "It's time we all went to bed," she announced. "To-morrow you and Hertha will want to have a long walk together, I know," turning to Tom, "and we'll have dinner when you get back; and then it'll be Mammy's turn to be with you."

      She put herself in the background, genuinely anxious to do all she could to make endurable her immutable decree. Life to her was like a quilt made up of great, glowing patches, each patch an achievement; and if the weaving together of the patches brought with it pricks of pain they were essential to the completed whole. But Tom not only objected to the pricking, but had his own ideas as to the color and fabric of his quilt.

      The next day found him with Hertha two miles down the river. It had been very warm in the pine country, and they had followed the open stream.

      "I's gwine the way they all go," Tom said meditatively, looking to the north. "The brooks flow to the rivers and the rivers to the sea. Don't you want to go too?"

      "I? No, indeed."

      "I've been thinking, Sister, it must be mighty slow here fer you; and when I'm gone it'll be worse. Why don't you settle in the city this winter and go out to work?"

      At Merryvale the city always meant the port, twenty-five miles away.

      "What a strange notion, Tom. I'd be lonesome there."

      "Oh, there'd be lots to do. Church every Sunday, and picnics, and excursions. You're so pretty, you'd be the best liked girl in the place."

      Hertha laughed. "Now, don't you begin to plan for me! I like it right where I am at home."

      "Most girls marry," Tom remarked after a few moments, "and so do most fellers. The boys round here ain't your kind. I don't wonder you don't notice 'em. But they's fine chaps down there," pointing down the stream, "lawyers, and doctors and teachers."

      The girl looked at her brother a little curiously as though wondering if he meant more than he said.

      "Well, this is the first time you've tried to marry me off! Mammy talks that way and Ellen wants me to choose a career, but I thought you loved Merryvale like I do and were only sorry to go away."

      "It's natural for the human being ter marry," Tom went on sententiously. "Don't think I will though," he added, "Ef you marry you don't have a chance to think. Now it might be, jest as I was thinking something very important, my wife 'ud interrupt and have a baby!"

      There was a finality in this remark that left them in silence, and dropping plans for the future they watched the light clouds gather in masses in the deep blue sky until it was time to start homeward.

      When they were within a short distance of the great house, rain began to fall, and by the time they had reached the live-oaks there was a downpour.

      "Come up here," Lee Merryvale called authoritatively from the porch.

      It was the front porch and they had no thought of setting foot on it, expecting instead to run for shelter to the kitchen door. Hertha moved forward but Tom drew back until Merryvale again commanded them to come.

      "You're wet," he said to Hertha as she stepped on the porch. And then turning sharply to Tom: "Can't you take care of your sister better than this?"

      "I'm all right," Hertha said quickly, abashed at the importance given to her. "Come up, Tom," she said calling to him, but he remained standing in the rain.

      "You can go home if you want," Lee Merryvale nodded his head toward Tom, "and Hertha can stay here until it stops. Don't you know we're sure to have a shower in the afternoon?"

      "It arrived ahead of time to-day," Hertha explained. And then noting Tom on the wet sand, the rain beginning to soak through his coat, her motherliness got the better of her embarrassment. "Come up on the porch," she said coaxingly. "I'll run upstairs and get a coat I keep here for just such a time as this. I won't be a moment. Please!"

      He mounted the steps to please her and then walked to the end that was furthest from Merryvale.

      The white man sat down in a porch chair, threw his head back, crossed his knees, and began to smoke.

      "You smoke, Tom?"

      "No, sir."

      "The first thing you'll do when you go to school will be to smoke; not because you like it but because it's against the rules. Break all the rules you can, my boy, and get sent home, for you're needed here."

      "Naw," Tom replied turning at him and almost snarling, "I ain't no use."

      Young Merryvale regarded the boy with some amazement, then noting the grimness of his expression, said nothing further. In a moment Hertha, wearing her long coat, came down the stairs and she and her brother went on their way.

      Before he went to his room that night, Tom spoke a word alone with Ellen. "Don't let Sister grieve too much," he said.

      Ellen looked at him sadly. "You put me in a very hard position, Tom. You make me seem almost cruel."

      "Never mind about that. What's done can't be mended. But don't let Hertha grieve—not if you can help it."

      He kissed his older sister good-night and went into his little room, there to sit upon his trunk and with his face in his hands bury himself in thought.

      "Ef I was any use," he said, "Ellen couldn't drag me away; but I ain't the brother she needs."

      He stepped up the gangway into the little boat the next morning like a man. They were all there to see him off: his mother wiping her eyes and telling him to be her good boy; Ellen, resolute, not giving way to her sorrow; and Hertha, his beautiful sister, waving her handkerchief, her

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