"We've been engaged two years already," he said, moodily; "I don't want to be another case of Andrew Steele."
"I'm not afraid," Alice said. "Why, if you get the new job press, and get that Mercer work, think how much that will help!"
"Well," Luther said, "yes; but if I get the press, there's another debt. And if I don't get it, I can't get the work; so there it is. A vicious circle."
This question of the purchase of a new press, before the old press had been paid for, was a very serious and anxious one. "I wish father could help," Alice said—they were walking home from Wednesday-evening lecture, loitering in the moonlight, and wishing the way were twice as long.
"Oh, I wouldn't think of such a thing," the young man declared; "we'll pull out somehow. He's gone off to the woods, hasn't he?"
"Yes, he went this morning; he's so pleased to get away! He won't be back till the Academy opens."
"I suppose he hates to leave you, though," Lute said.
"Yes, but I can see that the getting away is a great relief. I keep his pictures dusted, and take the flowers up to the cemetery for him; so he knows things are not neglected."
"But," Luther said, thoughtfully, "I think she's sorry to have him go?"
"Oh yes; sorry, I suppose," Alice admitted. "She's fond of him—in her way."