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He could have wept, he could have sung, but he only shuddered and lay silent under the stress of that strange, sweet passion which quickened his heart, deepened his eyes, and made his breath come and go with a quivering sound. Across the dazzling blue arch of the sky the crow flapped, sending down his prophetic, jubilant note; the breeze, as soft and sweet as April, stirred in his hair; the hills, deep in their dusky blue, seemed miles away; and the voices of the care-free skaters on the melting ice of the river below came to the ear subdued to a unity with the scene.

Suddenly a fear seized upon the boy–a horror! Life, life was passing! Life that can be lived only once, and lost, is lost forever! Life, that fatal gift of the Invisible Powers to man–a path, with youth and joy and hope at its eastern gate, and despair, regret, and death at its low western portal!

The boy caught a momentary glimpse of his real significance. “I am only a gnat, a speck in the sun, a youth facing the millions of great and wise and wealthy!” He leaped up in a frenzy. “Oh, I mustn’t stay here! I must get back to my studies. Life is slipping by me, and I am doing nothing, being nothing!”

His face, as pale as death, shone with passionate resolution, and his hands were clinched in silent vow.

But on his way back he met the jocund party of skaters going home from the river, and with the easy shift and change of youth joined in their ringing laughter. The weird power of the wind’s voice was gone, and he sank to the level of the unthinking boy again. However, the problem was only put off, not solved.

That night Hartley said: “Well, pardner, we’re getting ‘most ready to pull out. Someways I always get restless when these warm days begin.” This was as sentimental as Hartley ever got; or, if he ever felt more sentiment, he concealed it carefully.

“I s’pose it must ‘a’ been in spring that those old chaps, on their steeds and in their steel shirts, started out for to rescue some damsel, hey?” he ended, with a grin. “Now, that’s the way I feel–just like striking out for, say, Oshkosh. That little piece of lofty tumbling of yours was a big boom, and no mistake. Why, your share o’ this campaign will be a hundred and twenty dollars sure.”

“More’n I’ve earned,” replied Bert.

“No, it ain’t. You’ve done your duty like a man. Done as much in your way as I have. Now, if you want to try another county with me, say so. I’ll make a thousand dollars this year out o’ this thing.”

“I guess I’ll go back to school.”

“All right; I don’t blame you for wanting to do that.”

“I guess, with what I can earn for father, I can pull through the year. I must get back. I’m awfully obliged to you, Jim.”

“That’ll do on that,” said Hartley, shortly; “you don’t owe me anything. We’ll finish delivery to-morrow, and be ready to pull out on Friday or Sat.”

There was an acute pain in Albert’s breast somewhere; he had not analyzed his case at all, and did not now, but the idea of going affected him strongly. It had been so pleasant, that daily return to a lovely girlish presence.

“Yes, sir,” Hartley was going on, “I’m going to just quietly leave a book on her centre-table. I don’t know as it’ll interest her much, but it’ll show we appreciate the grub, and so on. By jinks! you don’t seem to realize what a worker that woman is! Up five o’clock in the morning–By-the-way, you’ve been going around with the girl a good deal, and she’s introduced you to some first-rate sales; now, if you want to leave her a little something, make it a morocco copy, and charge it to the firm.”