Beth Woodburn

one of the car-windows. It had almost choked her to say good-bye to her father at the station, and she was still straining her eyes to cat

clambering over their porches, and the tomatoes ripening in the kitchen window-sills. Gradually the tears dried, for the

alike, but a cheery, not monotonous, row, with the maples in front, and Victoria University at the end of the street. A plump, cheery landlady saw Beth to her room, and, once alone, she did just what hundreds of other girls have done in her place-sat down on that big trunk and wept, and wondered what "dear old daddy" was doing. But she soon controlled herself, an

f Christ, but the weakest child of

r. Beth looked around the tea-table at the new faces: Mrs. Owen, at one end of the table, decidedly stout; Mr. Owen, at th

ty halls, those long halls thronged with students. Clarence left her in the care of a gentle fourth-year girl. Beth was taken from lecturer to lecturer until the registering was done, and then she stopped

ices. It was all new to Beth; she had seen so little of the world. There was the reception the Y.W.C.A. gave to the "freshettes"-she enjoyed that, too. What kind girls they were! Beth was not slow to decide that the "'Varsity maid" would make a model wife, so gentle and kindly and with such a broad, progressive mind. Still Beth made hardly any friendships worthy of the name that first year. She was peculiar in this respect. In a crowd of girls she was apt to like all, but to love none truly. When she did make friends she came upon them suddenly, by a sort of instinct, as in the case of Marie, and became so absorbed in them she forgot everyone else. This friendship with Marie was another feature of her present life that pleased her. She had dropped out of Sunday-school work.

you were writing last summer,

m going to leave them till holidays, next summer

me the

rie leaned forward, a bright, delighted sparkle in her dark eyes. Beth had never interested

ever you are; you will be famous soon

with them. Beth never thought of leaving her, and Clarence, too, seemed to enjoy her company. Beth was pleased at this; she liked to have Clarence appreciate her friends. T

face grand?" said Claren

at in the rocker opposite her mirr

e wondered why her eyes never sparkled and glowed like Marie's. She wished they had more expression

ading-room, after the other girls were gone, and it was just where the two corridors met that she came face to face with Arthur. He stopped, and inquired about her studies and her health, and his eyes rested kindl

, with soft clouds and a mild breeze playing through the budding trees. Marie came down looking so picturesque under her broad-brimmed hat, and lifted her veil to receive Beth's farewell kiss. Beth watched her as she crossed the lawn to the cab. Clarence came hurrying up to cla

Whitman's, sometimes of Dr. Needler's, that awakened a strange incoherent music in her soul-a new chord was struck. It was almost dark when she reached her room, at the close of a stormy winter day. She stood at her window watching the crimson and black drifts of cloud piled upon each other in the west. Strife and glory she seemed to read in that sky. She thought of Whitman's rugged manliness, of the way he had mingled with all classes of men-mingled with them to do them good. And Beth's heart cried out within her, only to do something in this great, weary world-something to uplift, to ennoble men, to raise the lowly, to feed and to clothe the uncared for, to brighten the millions of homes, to lift men-she knew not where. This cry in Beth's heart