A Hoosier Chronicle

ainty that the maid-of-all-work would trouble herself to answer, Sylvia put down her book and went to the door. Very likely it was a stu

he prevailing mud colored everything. Buckeye Lane was originally a cow-path, in the good old times when every reputable villager kept a red cow and pastured it in the woodlot that subsequently became Madison Athletic Field. In those days the Madison faculty, and their wives and daughters, seeking social diversion among the hospitable townfolk, picked their way down the Lane by lantern light. An ignorant municipal council had later, when natural gas thr

munity. The clapboards of the simple story-and-a-half cottage had faded to a dull gray, but the little plot of ground in which the house stood was cultivated with scrupulous care. The lawn was always fresh and crisp, the borde

long-vanished feminine hand. The scant lares and penates were sufficient to explain something of this shiplike trimness of the housekeeping. The broken half of a ship's wheel clung to the wall above the narrow grate, and the white marble mantel supported a sextant, a binocular, and other incidentals of a shipmaster's profession. An engraving of the battle of Trafalgar and a portrait of Farragut spoke further of the sea. If we take a liberty and run our eyes over the bookshelves we find many volumes relating to the development of sea power and textbooks of an old vintage on the sailing of ships and like matters. An

rder of the immaculate small rooms and the snugness with which every article had been fitted to its place. The professor's broad desk was free of litter; his tobacco jar neighbored his inkstand on a clean, fresh bl

uld like very much to see him," sa

ied Sylvia, with that directness which,

a student, and as her grandfather was particularly w

see him. If he will be ba

is forehead, giving him a combative look that his smile belied. He was a trifle too old for a senior, Sylvia reflected, soberly studying his lean, smooth-shaven face, but not nearly old enough to be a professor; and except the pastor of the church which she attended, an

im. He may have gone to the library or to the obs

ey debated, with much formality on both sides, whether Sylvia should seek her grandfather or merely direct the visitor to places where he would

follows the familiar walks that link the college buildings together. The students who pass her grin cheerfully and tug at their caps; several, from a distance, wave a hand at her. One young gentleman, leaning from the upper window of the

assed us by. We shall not pretend that her features are perfect, but their trifling irregularities contribute to an impression of individuality and character. Her mouth, for example, is a bit large, but it speaks for good humor. Even at fifteen, her lips suggest firmness and decision. Her forehead is high and broad, and h

ve orators. At the cross-roads store, philosophers, perched upon barrel and soap-box (note the soap-box), clinch in endless argument. Every county has its Theocritus who sings the nearest creek, the bloom of the may-apple, the squirrel on the stake-and-rider fence, the rabbit in the corn, the paw-paw thicket where fruit for the gods lures farm boys on frosty mornings in golden autumn. In olden times the French voyageur, paddling his canoe from Montreal to New Orleans, sang cheerily through the Hoosier wilderness, little knowing that one day men should stand all night before bu

g and the d

g and all the days

punctuated and governed by the college bell, and of people who either taught or studied, with glimpses now and then of the women and children of the professors' households. There were times, when the winds whispered sharply round the cottage on winter nights, or when the snow lay white on the campus and in the woods beyond, when some memory taunted her, teasing and luring

maid-of-all-work, constituted Sylvia's sole acquaintance with anything approximating maternal care. Mary, unknown to Sylvia and Professor Kelton, sometimes took counsel-the privilege of her long residence

Sylvia's adoring vision. Sylvia knew the world chiefly from her reading,-Miss Alcott's and Mrs. Whitney's stories at first, and "St. Nicholas" every month, on a certain day that found her meeting the postman far across the campus; and she had read all the "Frank" books,-the prized possessions of a neighbor's boy,-from the Maine woods through the gunboat and prairie exploits of that delectable hero. At fourteen she had fallen upon Scott and Bulwer and had devoured them voraciously during

library, a man just entering sixty, with white, close-trimmed hair and beard. The eyes he raises to his granddaughter are like hers, a

ent-are you sure h

s confide

ery clever about disguising themselves

tranger was not an agent, and the pro

ff. It can't be possible I am following a false clue. I'm sure I printed that article in the 'Popular Science Monthly,' for I rec

of the faculty had known her, as they had known also the professor's wife, now dead many years. Professor Kelton had changed with the coming of Sylvia, so his old associates said; and their wives wondered that he should have undertaken the bringing-up of the child without other aid than that of the Ir

r sight as a girl, never to return. They were men of quality, these teachers who had been identified with the college so long; they and their households were like a large family; and when younger men joined the faculty and inquired, or when their wives asked perfectly natural questions about Professor Kelton and Sylvia, their inquiries were met by an evasion that definitely dismissed the matter. And out of this spirit, w

peering through the telescope she had coaxed the stars into her own eyes. Professor Kelton and his granddaughter were thus fully identified with the college and its business, which was to impart knowledge,-an old-fashioned but not yet wholly neglected function at Madison. She reckoned time by semesters; the campus had always been her playground; and the excitements of her life were those of a small and sober academic community. The darkest tragedies she had known had, indeed, been related to the life of the college,-the disciplining of the class of '01 for publishing itself in numerals on the

. His name in the Madison catalogue was followed by a bewildering line of cabalistic letters testifying to the honor in which other institutions of learning held him. Wishing to devise for him a title that combined due recognition of bot

knew when he would be moved to relate it, he told a thrilling story of how once, guided by the stars, he had run a Confederate blockade in a waterlogged ironclad under a withering fire from the enemy's batteries. And when he had finished and the applause ceased, he glanced about with an air of surprise and said: "Thank you, young gentlemen; it pleases me to f

iting for him at the cottage. The young man did not ment

ton? I am to give you this le

to the end. He then re-read the whole carefully, and placed the sheet on his desk and laid a weight upon it bef

u were instructed not to discuss it in any way or disclose the name or the r

ents of the letter. I was told to del

ease note carefully what I say. The reply is No. The

rt that you a

r Kelton quietly. The young man rose, an

has been a warm day, the warmest o

d somewhat; his manner expressed mingled trepidation and curiosity. The letter was type-written and was neither dated nor signed. He carried it to the window and held it against

tter wishes to provide a sum of money to be held and expended by you for her benefit. No obligations of any sort will be incurred by you in accept

making the offer and the contents of this communication are unknown to him. If you wish to avail yourself of this gift, the amount

, lost in reverie; then paused at his desk and tore the letter once across with the evident intention of destroying it; but he hesitated, changed his mind, and carried it to his bedroom. There he took from a closet shelf a battered tin box marked "A. Kelton, U.S.N.

h the librarian started home with the book under her arm. Halfway across the campus she met her grandfather's

't take much time, you see. I'm s

at was

uilding the co

Sylvia. "Are yo

t to a very different college and"-

ges," Sylvia remarked, with the s

ng man

no praise from me; it speaks for itself.

ad perhaps read this inquiry in her eyes, and as though suddenly roused by

called over his shoulder

as he continued on his way,

her implication that while there were larger colleges than Madison there was none better. He turned to look again at the college buildings closely clasped by their strip of woodland. Madison was not a college to sneer at; he h

iend Dr. Wandless, the former presid

have been looting the library, I see. H

ou're purposely misquoting. You've only

'Canst thou bind the sweet influences of Pleiades, or loose the bands of Orion?

ing eyes and a smile

f heaven? canst thou set the d

ylvia!" said the old mi

andfather's cottage. The minister turned once, a venerable figure with snowy beard and hair, and beat

art thou?'" he

rom his own thoughts; but the question asked of Bethuel's daughter by Abrah

aughter