"I knew you would like it, particularly 'Excelsior.' Beulah, I have written 'excelsior' on my banner, and I intend, like that noble youth, to press forward over every obstacle, mounting at every step, until I, too, stand on the highest pinnacle, and plant my banner where its glorious motto shall float over the world. That poem stirs my very soul like martial music, and I feel as if I should like to see Mr. Longfellow, to tell him how I thank him for having written it. I want you to mark the passages you like best; and, now I think of it, here is a pencil I cut for you to-day."
He drew it from his pocket and put it into her hand, while his face glowed with enthusiasm.
"Thank you, thank you." Grateful tears sprang to her eyes; tears which acute suffering could not wring from her. He saw the gathering drops, and said gayly:
"If that is the way you intend to thank me I shall bring you no more pencils. But you look very pale, and ought to be asleep, for I have no doubt to-morrow will be a trying day for you. Do exert yourself to be brave, and bear it all for a little while; I know it will not be very long, and I shall come and see you just as often as possible."
He rose as he spoke.
"Are you obliged to go so soon? Can't you stay with me a little longer?" pleaded Beulah.
The boy's eyes filled as he looked at the beseeching, haggard face, and he answered hastily:
"Not to-night, Beulah; you must go to sleep—you need it sadly."
"You will be cold walking home. Let me get you a shawl."
"No, I left my overcoat in the hall—here it is."